


The Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands Shop

by alikuu



Series: Rare Pairings of Silmarillion [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Broken Hearts, Bromance to Romance, Complete, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Resolved Romantic Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Second Chances, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Valinor, fallen banners, happy end, oblivious characters, rebirth fic, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Celebrimbor and Maeglin accidentally establish the first ever lonely hearts club in Valinor and amidst the other absurd things that happen to them, discover that all they've been searching for had been right under their noses the entire time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some words and interchangable names:
> 
> nér - adult male elf  
> nis - adult female elf  
> Eldar, Quendi - elves  
> Valinor / Aman / Eldamar 
> 
> Celebrimbor - Tyelpe, Tyelperinquar  
> Maeglin - Lómion  
> Turgon - Turukáno  
> Aredhel - Írissë  
> Idril - Celebrindal

The brass bell of the front door announced the entrance of a visitor, and Tyelpe hurried to put down the piece of steel he had been forging. 

He walked out of the workshop area of his cottage, taking off the thick leather gloves, which he wore for work and wiping the palms of his hands into his apron. As he soundlessly hopped up a small flight of stairs, he tidied his appearance as best as he could. Clients were not such a rarity, but given his location in the middle of the forested hills of Eldamar, the smith didn't expect them every day, and most of the time barely bothered to look presentable.

The entrance of his home was made to serve the purpose of a shop, and as Celebrimbor turned the last corner to the counter, he smoothed down the stray locks of dark hair, which had fallen out of his messily tied ponytail, took a deep breath and prepared his best smile.

Once he stepped out, he saw a dark-haired willowy nér looking around the displays. The elf had his back turned to Tyelpe and was examining some forged door ornaments. Celebrimbor didn’t have to see his face or know his name to guess that he was a Noldo. His clothes and bearing gave away that he came from Tirion and additionally, the ellon had the darkest shade of hair, which Tyelperinquar had ever seen, such that could only belong to one of the Deep Elves.

Tearring his curious eyes away, Tyelpe took his place behind the shop counter.

“Greetings!” The smith said, hoping not to startle the stranger. “What can I do to help you?”

When the nér turned around, Tyelpe’s smile froze. The elf was handsome and strikingly so, but in a forbidding kind of way. His skin was pale, almost white, as if he had never seen the sun or avoided it studiously. His eyes were sharp, very dark and they made his glare so striking that a lesser elf might have been thoroughly unnerved by his presence. However, as one who had defied the eyes of Sauron himself, Tyelpe wasn't easily intimidated.

The moment dragged as the newcomer remained perfectly still, his eyes the only animated thing about him as they darted over the smith, scrutinising him in return. When he finally spoke, it was in a low, measured tone, which carefully enunciated each syllable.

“Are you Tyelperinquar,” The stranger asked, “of the line of Fëanor, otherwise known as Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion?”

“Yes.” The craftsman nodded slightly. He could no longer summon a smile at the uncanny customer. Such solemn questions about his identity never boded well, not in his past life, not even in blissful Valinor. “You have come to the right place.”

If the other elf noticed the way Celebrimbor took half a step to the left and angled his body so that he could quickly reach for the sword, which hanged as a display on the wall, he didn’t comment.

“I have come to speak to you.” The dark-eyed nér's statement caught Tyelperinquar off-guard.

“My name is Lómion.” The newcomer continued. “Son of Aredhel, called Maeglin… of Gondolin. You might have heard of me.”

 _Lómion. Maeglin._  Tyelperinquar had heard of him, and suddenly his particular manner began to make sense. Tyelpe hadn’t missed the catch in his voice before Lómion named the city, which he had betrayed.

_Traitor._

The word hung in the air between them, as loud as a scream, even if it hadn’t been said by either of them. Celebrimbor could see the other nér's guilt written all over his face. It was an easy emotion for him to spot. He knew it intimately.

“Yes.” Tyelpe said slowly, carefully. “I know of you.”

Maeglin visibly stiffened. By all means he looked as if he expected Celebrimbor to draw out that sword.

“Well,” The smith allowed his stance to relax, slowly letting out the breath he had unwittingly held. “I’m making a very poor host. You said you wanted to speak with me, and I haven’t even invited you inside. Please, this way - I will put the kettle on...”

He was already moving towards the small living area of his cottage, when Lómion made his first movement in a while.

“No!” Maeglin reached out his hand and took a wide step, a gesture quickly aborted as he instantly retreated his long limbs back to himself. The smith stilled and turned around to regard his visitor questioningly. The dark-eyed elf was looking at him firmly and impatiently. Thinking it a rejection, Celebrimbor quickly deflated. It was a familiar kind of hurt, and it didn't bother him that much, but then, to his surprise, the nér continued:

“You don’t have to offer me tea. I know that I'm not welcomed here or anywhere. I only have a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I promise.”

Celebrimbor lifted his eyes from where they had fallen to the floor, regarding Maeglin’s drawn features and the slight seize in his eyebrows. Desperation was another emotion he recognised and it gave him the courage to offer again:

“I cannot remember the last time someone came just to have a conversation.” He confessed, watching the reactions on the other elf's stern face. “I’d be happy to share your company, if you would have mine in return. I am sure you know who I am, if you have went through the trouble of journeying for days to seek me out. I wouldn’t fault you if you’d rather refuse, but just don’t do it because you think that I’m asking you out of obligation.”

Lómion seemed to realise something as well, but he didn’t speak, he merely nodded in that sharp, bird-like way he moved. Once he had made up his mind, he took a few long strides towards the place where Tyelpe was heading, before pausing and waiting for his host to lead the way.

Celebrimbor took him down a short staircase to a lower floor of the house where he had set up a sort of small kitchen and living area for himself. On one side there was a long wooden table, covered in pots, jars, ingredients, herbs and all sorts of kitchenware. The smith busied himself with the preparation of herbal tea, almost dancing around the table as he plucked the ingredients he needed with the ease of someone who knew where everything was.

Meanwhile, Maeglin watched him from across the room, standing with his hands crossed in front of his chest and keeping as much distance as possible. There was distrust in his eyes as he observed the ritual of familiar movements. Tyelpe noticed the looks he was receiving, but didn’t comment.

“I was right to come to you.” Lómion spoke suddenly. 

“What do you mean?” Tyelperinquar stopped grinding the dried herbs to turn his attention on the other elf.

“You are alone.” Maeglin said. “So much so that you’d have tea with one such as me.”

“Look who’s talking.” Celebrimbor challenged. “You are the one who travelled through hills and woods to seek me out.”

Lómion glanced away, his pride wounded or ashamed, Celebrimbor couldn’t tell, but when he looked up, there was a sharp light in his eyes.

“Is it true?” He asked. “What they say about you?”

Tyelpe shot him a dangerous glare but proceeded to put the herbs inside the kettle as if the question hadn’t been asked. He made his way to a small square dining table, which had only one chair and pulled an empty crate to it.

“About me and Sauron, you mean?” He asked casually, sitting on the crate and motioning for Lómion to the unoccupied chair.

Maeglin hesitated, eyeing the table and the little space between the two seats, but in the end he traversed the room and guardedly sat on the chair opposite Celebrimbor.

The smith turned his body slightly away, resisting the urge to examine his guest from up close.

“Yes.” Lómion said, his voice quieter now that they were sitting close.

“Not all of it is true. People make up long tales about it.” Tyelpe said with a resigned sigh. He looked out the window on the other side of the room, watching the cheerful morning light filtering through the canvas curtains. “The truth is that we were lovers and that we made the rings of power together. The rest of the stories about me being corrupted and doing it for power or influence are made up.”

He paused, expecting to see his guest choking in disgust, but Maeglin just watched him with his piercing black eyes, holding up remarkably well considering the topic.

“And what about you?” Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “Are the things they say about you true?”

“That I betrayed Gondolin? That it fell because I exposed its location to the enemy? That I was… in love with my cousin?” Maeglin’s voice suddenly turned bitter and something in his eyes was wild and brittle, making the feanorian tense.

“Yes, it’s true. All of it.” Maeglin’s face took a stony quality, once again as still as frozen, and in that moment Celebrimbor realised what Lómion reminded him of - a cornered beast, stuck between the instincts of fight and flight - ready to strike or retreat at any moment, as if he expected Tyelperinquar to attack him or at least attempt to hurt him in some way.

The kettle chose that moment to scream and Celebrimbor got up to pour them each a cup of tea. He set the ceramic mugs in front of their seats and sat back down across from his visitor.

“You’ve been released from the Halls of Waiting.” The smith said. “You’ve earned your chance to be amongst the living again. Mandos has judged you. I’m not going to do it as well.”

Lómion looked up at him, emotions a turmoil in his dark eyes.

“If that is so, why am I still rejected? Still shunned? Everyone is afraid of me, as if I could somehow bring fire and death to Valinor just by existing here!

“Mothers hide their children in my presence. Elves refuse to speak to me, pretend that they don’t see me. Some even want to fight me - looking for vengeance either for themselves or others, whom my actions have hurt.” Lómion continued bitterly. “If I have been judged and I have been released by the Valar, why do I still feel like a traitor!?”

Tyelpe remained silent through his outburst. When he said nothing, Lómion continued:

“All I wanted to ask… The reason why I am here…” Maeglin spoke, and there was little pretence left in him. His sentences were breaking and tears were welling up in his eyes. “Does it ever get better? Will it ever get easier?”

Celebrimbor thought that Lómion already had his answer, but it appeared like he wanted a different one.

Tyelpe had encountered similar treatment in Tirion and all the other settlements of the Eldar. The Valar might have decreed him redeemed and his spirit fit to walk amongst the living, but Elves were a lot less forgiving and way less inclined to listen or understand.

Privately, the smith wondered if Maeglin had only recently been let out from Mandos and what kind of reception the betrayer of the most beloved city of the Noldor in Middle Earth had received upon his release. Possibly an even worse one than Tyelperinquar, whom at the end of the day had died withholding secrets from the enemy, which in some eyes redeemed him.

“It does get better... “ He said slowly. “If you find a place where you can exist without disturbing those who would rather blame you for your past’s mistakes, and if you find yourself something to do-” He gestured to the cottage around them. “This place might not look like much, but it is my home. I can create here, I can sell my works and live comfortably. Of course I don’t need a lot, but whatever I need, I can afford. To me, this is happiness.”

Maeglin’s piercing eyes locked on him and Celebimbor had the distinct impression that the other nér wasn’t convinced by his words.

“If your situation is similar to mine, and I believe it is, then you should look for what makes you content and just stick to it.” Tyelperinquar continued. “Did you have anyone to go to… when you left the Halls?”

Maeglin released him from his scrutiny, shields sliding back into place.

“Yes. I did.” The twilight elf explained. “My mother was waiting for me and it turned out that Turgon had forgiven me. He welcomed me back into his home and I was allowed to stay with my kin in Tirion.”

Celebrimbor was surprised to hear that. He had assumed that no one had taken Lómion in - otherwise why had he bothered to travel for days through woods to find the smith's remote cottage and then nearly cried about his treatment?

“Couldn’t you stay there?” He asked.

“I… I couldn’t.” Maegling said and when his eyes rose up to Tyelperinquar's, there was something imploring in them, but the Feanorian had no idea what they were asking of him. “You know that part of my story - I was in love with Celebrindal.”

Understanding suddenly dawned on Celebrimbor. He recalled distantly that Idril and a mortal, whom had been granted the gift of the Eldar, resided in Tirion. He almost kicked himself for not putting two and two together sooner and nodded his understanding before looking away to give the dark-eyed elf some privacy.

“Anyway,” Maeglin spoke again after a long pause, sitting back and looking around the cottage. “Do people buy your work, despite everything?”

His manner was hopeful all of a sudden, and Tyelpe was glad for the change of subject.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirked. “People gladly buy beautiful things, even if the hands that made them are bloody. That’s what my father taught me, back in Nargothrond and to this day his words prove true. How do you think I survived in Middle Earth once I renounced my heritage and titles?”

“If that is so, may I look at the work that is so beautiful that Elves are willing to forgive its maker?” Lómion smiled in return. Their cups were still full and steaming, neither of them having touched the tea.

“As you wish.” Tyelpe beamed as genuine pleasure passed through him at the chance to show his work. It was one of the biggest joys in his life. He stood up and Lómion followed promptly.

“I hope it won’t disappoint.” The craftsman added and lead the way to the shop section of his home.

Once he had shown his guest around the displays and Maeglin had responded with awed praises, Celebrimbor couldn’t resist inviting him into the forge to show him the work, which was not for sale, either because it was too personal or too cherished.

“So people actually buy from you regularly!” Lómion exclaimed when he saw the amount of jewelry commissions Tyelpe was working on at the time. “I can see why, too.”

He lifted a perfectly cast simple silver band with the thinnest, most delicate tengwar writing he had ever seen, inscribed across it.

“It’s a wedding band.” Celebrimbor said. “It has a small Song in it, which will make the writing light up and emit a soft golden glow if the lady says ‘Yes’ to her suitor.”

He picked up an identical ring.

“This one will glow in silver and when the couple puts their hands together during the ceremony, their lights will mingle together like Telperion and Laurelin.”

Maeglin frowned slightly, but when he looked up at Tyelperinquar, who dropped the second ring into his opened palm, he smirked sheepishly.

“That is awfully romantic, has anyone told you?” He said, his voice holding a tinge of bitterness. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

Celebrimbor chuckled ruefully.

“I don’t know what to say in my defence.” He shrugged. “I have no idea where those ideas come from.”

“Perhaps there is someone you wish to gift such a ring to?” Lómion raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, no.” Tyelpe shook his head and stepped away, all humour seeping out of him. “I’m afraid, I have zero prospects at this time.”

Lómion's smile died in turn.

“Maybe in the future.” The craftsman added to lighten the mood. “I hope.”

“I hope so too, for your sake.” Maeglin said quietly. “I…”

He faltered and Tyelperinquar didn’t expect him to continue, but then the pale-skinned elf made up his mind and said:

“I wish one day I’d be here commissioning you a ring like this for someone as well.” He looked up at Celebrimbor and there was a slight blush of embarrassment on his cheeks, but whatever he saw in the other dark-haired elf evidently put him at ease enough that he smiled warily and added: “It gets tiring to love where love cannot be returned. Even if that’s all I have ever known.

“In truth, I wouldn’t be here, if Nienna hadn’t spoken for me.” He said. “I spent thousands of years in the Halls and still, I could not forget Idril. I could not stop loving her. Nienna became a regular visitor. She tried to help me, but not even her tears could wash away the poisoned love that has sunk its claws so deeply into my heart.

“In the end, she decided that only the love of another might heal me, and she convinced Mandos to release me before it was time, but only on the condition that I would relinquish my love for Idril.

“I thought I could do it.” Maeglin added and his eyes were turning glassy. “But it’s not so easy now that I’ve seen her again.”

Celebrimbor swallowed thickly. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it might have felt like for Lómion to see the one whom he had loved, but who did not answer his feelings, again after his rebirth. Tyelperinquar counted himself lucky that he never had to see Annatar again. He wasn’t certain that he could survive it without breaking into a million pieces with no hope of ever being whole again.

“She is the sum of everything I value, everything that I believe is holy, and everything that I crave. And she despises me. Still.” Maeglin finished his confession and turned his face away.

Tyelpe bit his lip, trying to find something to say.

“If you don’t want to go back, you can stay here.” He found himself uttering in the end.

Maeglin inhaled sharply and raised his head, turning back to look at him.

“You are not as bad as they say, and if you think the same about me, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t keep each other company.” Tyelpe shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It seems like a waste for both of us to be alone, don't you think?”

Lómion was looking at him silently and Tyelpe assumed that he needed more coaxing to stay or more explanation why anyone would want him around, so he continued:

“It’s been centuries since I had a real conversation with anyone. Being alone for extended periods of time can be bad for an elf. It will get bad for you too, after a while. So, if you have nowhere else to go, you can stay here with me.”

Maeglin’s expression was solemn, but his expressive eyes betrayed bewilderment, uncertainty and suspicion as Celebrimbor’s speech finally died down in the face of the other elf’s intense scrutiny.

Finally Maeglin’s mask crumbled to a mixture of grief and reluctant relief, and he spoke:

“Are you sure? Would you really allow me to stay?” He asked and his voice was brittle, so close to breaking. “I don’t want your pity or your charity.”

“It would be neither.” Celebrimbor reassured him, resisting the urge to take a step forward. “I could use the company and a helping hand. And besides, I’ve heard that you had a gift for finding and refining metals. I could really use someone with your skills. It would save me time that I could otherwise spend creating.”

“Are you offering me a job?” Maeglin suddenly laughed.

“Why not?” Tyelpe answered with a small smile. “I can provide room and board for it, as well as a modest payment.”

Lómion took a look around the forge, apparently contemplating his options. There was a certain kind of appreciation and gladness as he took in Celebrimbor’s workspace with all it’s scattered work, tools and materials and then turned to the small window through which rays of sun shined and the song of forest birds could be heard.

“Well, your place absolutely needs some organising.” Lómion said. “Thankfully, I’m a specialist in that as well. By the time I’m done here, everything will be indexed and booked and put into its rightful place. Not to mention, I will find you something a lot better than -”

Lómion picked up the steel sheet, which Celebrimbor had been working prior to the surprise visit.

“- than whatever piece of orc-filth this is.” The twilight elf finished with distaste.

“Hey,” Tyelperinquar plucked the metal from his grasp protectively. “Don’t get carried away - I have my own system and I’d rather it stays the way it is. You’d have plenty of your own work to do.”

“Let’s see whose organisation is more efficient and time-saving!” Maeglin challenged with a teasing smile that Celebrimbor couldn’t help but return.

“You’re on!” He said, clasping their forearms over it.

And thus Maeglin ended up staying with Celebrimbor for a time.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maeglin and Celebrimbor ride the worst horse in Valinor.

Lómion hadn't expected things to be easy. Nothing ever went well when it came to him. 

That's why when the first issue with his stay in Celebrimbor's house arose, less than an hour after his agreement to remain with the infamous feanorian, he wasn't at all surprised that things quickly escalated to a heated argument:

“But I prefer sleeping there!” Celebrimbor insisted. He was trying to make Maeglin take the only bed in the house, while he himself slept on a cot in his smithy.

Lómion couldn't accept the offer - he hated having to inconvenience his host in any way. Unfortunately, Celebrimbor was proving more obstinate than a mule.

“I will not take your bed!" The dark-eyed elf argued back. "I’m already intruding on you here - I would rather sleep in the forge-”

“It’s filthy! I would be embarrassed to let you sleep there. And you aren’t intruding - you’re my guest and I invited you to stay. I should sleep on the cot, and you take the bed-”

“It’s out of the question-” Maeglin shook his head. “I’d sleep on the floor if you don’t let me have the cot.”

“Are you really that stubborn!?” Tyelperinquar ran his hands through his already messily tied hair. “Listen, I will change the sheets -”

“It’s not about the sheets - it's not about whether they smell of your sweat or not!” Maeglin threw his hands in the air and shouted in frustration, a slip, which he quickly regretted.

Celebrimbor’s earnest expression shifted to guarded and the newly rembodied elf reminded himself that he needed to tread lightly. Maeglin wasn't afraid of him, but he also didn't want to draw out that sharp edge, which he had seen earlier in Celebrimbor. The other elf's entire stature was sending out an unambiguous message that he would put up a bitter fight, if he were threatened. Maeglin had a feeling that the feanorian wasn't even aware he was doing it.

“I can’t accept that much kindness from you.” Lómion hurried to explain. “Or from anyone. I don’t deserve it.”

“This is not about what you deserve, Maeglin.” Celebrimbor seemed to relax, but was still frowning. “This is about basic courtesy and I’m telling you, I sleep in the forge most nights when I’m too lazy to go up the stairs. Take the bed - or risk offending your host. I insist.”

Lómion let out a defeated sigh. He didn’t know what to do but agree. The last thing he wanted was to offend the one person who was willing to give him a chance.

“Come upstairs, let me show you the rooms there-” Celebrimbor hopped on a ladder, which lead to a small attic.

Maeglin followed him to the upper floor, which turned out to be tiny, with a sloped ceiling. There were three doors, each opening up to a room with the relative size of a closet.

“This is the bedroom,” Tyelperinquar opened the middle door, which unveiled a narrow room with wooden fittings.

A circular stained glass window threw sufficient light to review a single bed, a coffer, a desk and little more. However, despite the simple furnishing the room somehow managed to be in a state of total disorder. The bed was unmade, a towel was hanging on the back of the desk chair, several tunics were lying on the floor and there were books and scrolls scattered everywhere. And that was only what Maeglin managed to make out in the split second or two that he was allowed to view it, before the door closed.

“Please excuse the state of everything - I’ll tidy up for you later.” Celebrimbor sounded embarrassed, his cheeks assuming an endearing pink colour.

Lómion couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“This here is storage -” The smith pushed the second door with his shoulder and it opened with a long creak and the sound of items being dragged back.

When Lomion peered inside he was surprised that the door could open at all - the room on the other side was crammed to the brim with dusty, ancient-looking articles of all shapes and sizes. Most were covered with moth-eaten sheets, but some glinted like metal, while others had the outlines of sculptures and musical instruments. The air that escaped was stale. Large dust bunnies rolled over the floor in the wake of the receding door.

“How long have you not been in there?” Maeglin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Long enough.” Celebrimbor shrugged. “Those aren’t my things.”

“Whose are they then?” Lomion asked, following him to the third and final door.

“They are what was left of my family’s heirlooms from Formenos.” Tyelperinquar said as he unbolted the final door. The room, which awaited on the other side was similar to the previous one, but better lit, with a window only half-crammed by things.

“These are mine.” The smith said gesturing to the wide assortment of stuff. There was everything from metals and tools to pickled foods and firewood. “I could clear it up for you, so that this could be your room.”

“That would be very kind of you.” Lómion said and he meant it, even if he privately wondered how he’d adjust from the lifestyle of a Lord, which he had been in Gondolin, to living in a tiny cottage room in the middle of the woods.

He supposed that if Celebrimbor had managed, he could do it as well.

“If you like,” Tyelperinquar said as he slid down the ladder to the ground level, “we could go today to the nearest village and commission a bed for you.”

Maeglin followed him, climbing down more carefully, and turning to face his host once he had made it to the floor.

“Or we could wait until tomorrow, because we have a solid four hour walk in one direction.” Celebrimbor added. "It's up to you."

“I have a horse.” Maeglin offered. "I could try to get him to carry us there."

"That sounds fair. As long as we are not too heavy." Celebrimbor said, his grey eyes darting over Lómion in calculation.

"Our weight isn't the problem." Maeglin said, doing the same to the other elf.

"What then?" The smith asked.

"Let's hope that you won't have to find out." The dark-eyed nér sighed wearily.

...

Outside, Lómion's horse wasn’t where the elf had left him by the wooden signpost, which pointed to Tyelperinquar’s smitty.

“Sparklehoof?” Lomion called, getting anxious. “Sparklehoof!”

“I never thought anyone would steal horses in Valinor.” Celebrimbor commented in wonder.

“Oh, he’s not stolen.” Lómion huffed in annoyance. "Or, if he were stolen, they'd have returned him by now."

“Why?” The smith walked after him as Maeglin embarked on a frustrated search around the nearby trees.

“You will see.” The dark-eyed elf growled, getting more annoyed by the second.

It figures, he thought, that they would give _him_ the worst horse in Tirion. They must have been happy to get rid of the bad-tempered stallion.

“There you are, you four-legged curse!” Lómion exclaimed, having spotted his large, dark mahogany horse.

Sparklehoof answered him with a look full of disdain.

“I know you really don’t feel like it, but we must travel to another location today.” Maeglin continued as he approached the rather intimidating steed and attempted to stroke his head. Sparklehoof jerked away from the caress and neighed, turning his rear to his owner.

"Watch out, he's going to-!" Tyelperinquar jumped back, just in time as Sparklehoof attempted to throw a hinder kick at the elves. Lomion rolled to the side with the ease of practice.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to demand anything from him right now.” Tyelperinquar observed from a safe distance.

“Nonesense, he’s always like that.” Lómion said, drawing near to the stallion again and attempting to climb on the horse's back.

"Have you tried an apple?" Celebrimbor asked as Sparklehoof made Maeglin's attempts exceedingly difficult.

"He'll take the apple and still be like this-" Maeglin huffed but after a few false tries managed to cheat and jumped on, only for the stallion to rear up and the willowy nér to fall on the ground with a thud.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Celebrimbor dragged him away from the raging horse.

“I’m fine.” Maeglin shrugged out of the smith’s grasp, his face burning with embarrassment. He jumped to his feet, approaching the horse with resolve. “Listen, Sparklehoof, if you take me and Celebrimbor to the place we need to go and bring us back, I’ll set you free to do whatever you want with your life! How does that sound?”

Sparklehoof huffed suspiciously, but turned a calculating eye towards the elf.

“I know you despise me and even more so those who bred and took care of you in Tirion. I understand you completely. Ingratitude is in my nature as well.” Lómion continued. “But if you let me ride you this one last time, I will set you free after that. Will you do this for me? You have my word!”

Sparklehoof waved his long black tail around moodily but then he quieted down enough for Maeglin to beckon to Tyelperinquar to approach.

“Is he calm now?” The smith asked.

“As much as he can be.” Lómion said and climbed on the horse first. As most elves, Lómion didn't require a saddle to ride a horse, therefore it was up to Sparklehoof to carry him safely. “Do you need a hand?”

Maeglin reached a hand down to Celebrimbor, who stood by the horse, ready to mount.

“Not really, but very well.” Celebrimbor said and took his hand with an awkward smile before climbing up behind Lómion without need of support. Maeglin had the feeling that he had pretty much just held hands with the feanorian for no reason, but strangely the little touch didn't irk him.

“Are we too heavy for you, Sparklehoof?” Tyelperinquar asked and the horse dug his hoofs in the ground with annoyance.

“Don’t ask him such questions!” Lómion warned. “He’s going to drive us through some low branches on purpose.”

Celebrimbor started laughing and Maeglin couldn't help but smile in return.

…

The ride to the nearest settlement took them more than an hour, because regardless of Sparklehoof’s pride, he couldn’t gallop with two riders on top of him. It was well into the afternoon when they arrived at the market of a small village of Silvan elves, who had been driven out of Middle Earth by the bloody conflicts that had ended the Second Age during the war against Sauron.

Celebrimbor lead the way through the rural market to a carpenter’s shop.

“Greetings, Master Saeledhel.” Tyelperinquar said to the auburn haired elf, who emerged amongst the woodwork.

“Well met, Lord Celebrimbor.” The carpenter greeted.

“I’ve come to commission you another bed.” Celebrimbor said.

“Oh?” Saeledhel raised an eyebrow, looking from Tyelperinquar to Lómion and back. “And what happened to the previous one?”

“It's still as sturdy and comfortable as the day I bought it!” Celebrimbor reassured the craftsman. “It is for my friend that I am asking. He’ll be staying with me for a while.”

Now Saeledhel looked even more perplexed.

“Another Noldo is moving into our woods then.” The craftsman said with a strange chuckle, recognising Maeglin’s rich Tirion garb for what it was. “To be expected, I guess. It’s what your people do, isn’t it.”

His tone didn't sound exactly friendly to Maeglin and it ignited something defensive in the nér's gut.

“Do not worry, Master craftsman.” He interjected. “I doubt there would be any more of us congregating in Celebrimbor’s house. The woods you have claimed for yourselves are quite safe for now.”

Tyelperinquar shot him a disapproving look, but Maeglin ignored him.

“And who might you be, if I may ask?” Saeledhel put his hands on his hips in challenge.

“Friends, let’s not do this.” Celebrimbor moved to stand between the Noldo and the Silvan as both began to bridle.

“I am Maeglin from Gondolin.” Lomion’s said regardless, his pride not letting him pass a provocation.

Tyelperinquar took a deep breath but Saeledhel backed down. The barely concealed alarm in his eyes didn’t give Maeglin any satisfaction. Instead it only rubbed more salt on the wound of having his name bring only fear and disgust to those around him.

Saeledhel was nodding slowly, seemingly having understood something.

“Very well, then. What manner of bed would you like, Lord Celebrimbor? The same as the last one?” He turned to Tyelperinquar as if Lómion wasn’t there anymore.

“Yes, same as the last one would be just fine.” Celebrimbor was forcing a smile. The two begun discussing payment and Lomion walked a bit further away, looking around the small settlement in an attempt to ease his mind. The little Silvan children were looking at him curiously and it made his stomach churn. Surely, by the end of the day, they would all be hiding from him. There was no way the word wasn't going to spread, once he had let the cat out of the bag.

Tyelperinquar caught up to him when all was settled and nudged him to explore the market.

“He thinks that we deserve each other.” Celebrimbor said with dry amusement.

“Alas, I don’t doubt it.” Maeglin’s eyes were at his feet as he walked in whatever direction the feanorian took him.

“It’s not such a bad thing.” Tyelperinquar said and Lómion looked up to see him smiling brightly. “I would have been content with a lot worse.”

“You must have been on your own for far too long, if you are happy to be content with me.” Maeglin frowned.

“Stop putting yourself down.” Celebrimbor said seriously. “Isn’t it enough that others do it?”

Lómion made an ambivalent noise. He supposed that Celebrimbor was right - even if he didn’t hate himself so much, others were doing a fine job with it.

“Let’s buy some things.” Tyelperinquar offered. “I haven’t had guests for a while and my cupboards are poorly stocked.”

After they purchased seemingly half the market's goods, Celebrimbor lead Lómion to the village tavern where he asked what the dark-eyed elf would prefer from the unfamiliar selection of Silvan liquors and ales.

“What is this berry wine?” Maeglin asked, having never heard of such a thing in his short life in Gondolin or after his rebirth.

“It’s sweet and it goes straight to the head. If you like sweet things, then you should try it.” Tyelperinquar grinned and Maeglin agreed to taste it with a resigned sigh. He reckoned that this was probably the only time he’d be welcomed in the pub, before they started refusing to serve him.

He was glad for his decision once he tasted the drink.

“I like it.” He hummed appreciatively as he examined the colour and consistency of the wine curiously.

“I’m glad.” Celebrimbor smiled and raised his bubbling pint of ale in cheers.

“Is that stuff good?” Maeglin asked, watching the other nér drink nearly half of his pint in one go.

“It’s decent.” The smith said.

“Just decent? You gulped it down like a thirsty dwarf!” Lómion laughed.

“It must be because I used to drink with the dwarves.” Celebrimbor smiled. “Old habits.”

“So did I.” Maeglin returned the smile wishfully. It was one of the few good memories he had of his father. On a few occasions Eöl had taken him to the Blue Mountains to meet with the dwarves. And what trips those had been for the young elf! Lómion’s heart clenched with nostalgia.

In one go, Maeglin finished his glass of wine and put it down on the counter. The sweet taste washed away the burn of the alcohol but he felt the buzz hit him almost immediately.

“I can’t believe you offered me a maiden’s drink, while you are drinking ale.” Lómion said, wiping the corners of his mouth for any purple residue. “Drink up, Celebrimbor!” He said, patting the other elf's shoulder while turning to the barman.

“Two more of whatever he is having!”

…

When he woke up the next morning, Lómion knew for certain only two things - one, he hadn’t been that wasted since the days of his tender youth, and two, he wasn’t in his own bed.

Slowly blinking sleep away and moving gingerly not to disturb his pounding head, Maeglin lifted himself to one elbow and looked around the low-lit room. It was small and still dark, it’s western exposition mercifully ensuring that no perky morning rays would disturbed his tender eyes as he battled the hangover.

He was blissfully alone and as he looked around from the narrow single bed to the messy room about him, memories of the previous day came back slowly. He had remained in Tyelperinquar's cottage as his permanent guest, and he was currently in his bed, but Maeglin couldn’t remember how they had gotten back to the cottage after the tavern.

The elf let himself fall back amongst the dark-grey sheets, which had decidedly not been changed before he occupied them. The bed smelled like a forge, and Lómion had a distinct vision of a dirty, work-ridden smith crashing into it’s mattress after a long day’s labour and falling unconscious almost on the spot.

Strangely the idea didn’t fill him with disgust, even if Maeglin liked to keep himself pristine and rarely suffered other elves’ touch on him. Perhaps it was because he had already spent the entire night amongst Celebrimbor’s scent and had gotten used to it, or maybe he just didn't mind the other elf so much.

With a pang of uncontrollable curiosity, he tilted his head a tad to the side to smell the pillow beneath him. Amongst the smell of smoke and metal, and the stench of the booze that he had consumed the night before, he could almost catch another note, one which surely was Celebrimbor’s own. Lómion wondered what it reminded him of and inhaled more deeply…

Catching his mind wondering to nonsense, Lómion made a sharp rise from the bed. He needed to shower promptly.

Climbing down the ladder was a challenge with his limbs feeling cumbersome and uncooperative from the hangover. Maeglin had no idea how he had managed to climb up the previous night. The wonders of drunkenness, he supposed.

Halfheartedly, he checked out the door to see if he had at least had the decency to set Sparklehoof free on the previous night. Since the temperamental horse was nowhere in sight, the dark-eyed elf supposed that either he had, or the stallion had left on his own.

Moving towards the kitchen area, Maeglin was glad to see that they hadn’t been drunk enough to forget their purchases in the village. All the things they had bought were dumped on a heap in the middle of the room.

Groggily, Lómion went around it, annoyed by the chaos, only to discover that someone, or two somebodies, had left half-finished mugs of water on the small table. There was also an opened and completely devastated pack of rice-cakes, surrounded by crumbs. Lómion lifted the paper bag and sighed as he found it empty. Looking around, he realised that there was nothing for breakfast. The knowledge that the smith had no actual servants to clean or cook hit him suddenly. He hadn’t considered that previously.

Feeling awfully adrift, Maeglin went looking for the other elf and found him in his forge, sleeping on an old cot, tucked under some shelves. Celebrimbor was on his back, snoozing with his head tipped away and his mouth slightly opened. His body was halfway off the narrow bunk, with one arm and one leg dragging on the floor. Just like Maeglin, Tyelperinquar hadn’t changed from his previous day’s clothing and with his stained smith’s attire and his black hair almost completely unbound at that point, he looked like a total mess.

Lómion looked at his face for a long moment, wondering for the umpteenth time why this nér was allowing him to come into his life and stay, and then shook his head. The answer was simple - Celebrimbor was lonely. There was nothing more to it. Lómion told himself that he should feel lucky that he wasn’t the only fuck-up in Valinor, because otherwise he would have ended up completely alone. As it was, they didn’t have any other option but to keep each other company and there was nothing more to it.

In the end, having not the heart to wake him, Maeglin left the smith alone and returned to the kitchen, intent on tidying it up himself.

The noise he made as he tried to sweep and wash dishes for the first time in his life arose Tyelperinquar and soon the dark-haired feanorian was standing at the doorway, watching him groggily.

“You are holding this all wrong.” Celebrimbor said, pointing at Maeglin’s hold on the broom. “It’s not a sword.”

“If you don’t like it, do it yourself!” Lómion put down the broom and crossed his arms.

Tyelperinquar just walked around him and begun setting up the kettle.

“Sit down.” He said and Maeglin reluctantly did as he was told. As the tea begun to brew, Celebrimbor picked up the broom. “Watch and learn.”

Lómion had to suppress an undignified giggle as he watched the proud descended of Feanor sweep like a maid, until it dawned on him that the equally proud descendent of Fingolfin, would soon be doing the same.

“You shouldn’t have gotten so upset with Saeledhel.” Tyelperinquar said as he begun preparing omelette for the two of them. “He’s not unkind by nature. He just has his reasons to dislike the Noldor.”

“I didn’t get upset, I just didn’t like the way he spoke to you.” Maeglin said.

“These people are already being generous by trading with me.” Celebrimbor reminded him. “A lot of them have lost their lives or loved ones to the war, which my actions started. I don’t blame them for disliking me.”

Lómion sighed in resignation, feeling the same weariness, which had worn down his heart threaten to craw back to him again. He had thought that things would be different once he begun living with the smith, but it seemed that even if there was an improvement, it wasn’t that great. People were still going to hate him and Tyelperinquar - the only difference was that now they didn’t have to endure the treatment alone.

“I'm going to take a shower. Do you need one as well?” Celebrimbor said as they finished their plates and Maeglin looked up from his dark musings.

“Well, yes. I must reek.” Maeglin laughed self-consciously. He was glad that there were no mirrors in sight in Tyelperinquar's house, otherwise he would have had to bear the shame of seeing what he looked like after their night of drinking.

“You can go first. It’s outside, let me show you how it works.” Celebrimbor offered and Lómion followed him out of the door and behind the cottage.

Outside it was a perfectly beautiful day, with birds chirping and emerald-green leaves rustling in the warm breeze. Somewhere nearby a river could be heard and upon examination, Maeglin noticed that the smith was growing crops and fruits in a compact garden. Nearby there were two sheds where the smith seemed to keep most of his materials and firewood.

“This is it.” Tyelperinquar said, pointing to a wooden palette sitting on the ground behind one of the walls of the cottage.

“It works with rainwater.” Celebrimbor added, pointing to a tank, elevated on the roof.

“You pull here,” Celebrimbor indicated a lever, “and the water will start flowing through the tube.”

Maeglin spotted the tube, which Tyelperinquar was referring to, located just over the wooden palette.

“I’m sure you know what to do.” Celebrimbor smirked and begun walking away, turning to add over his shoulder, “Just save me some water! Or don’t - I could wash in the river.”

Left alone with the other nér gone back into the house, Lómion contemplated his options. Even in Eöl’s old house in the middle of Nan Elmoth there had been a proper bathing chamber. To get naked and wash in the open, with no walls to shield him, made him feel terribly vulnerable.

It took all his resolve and a few long moments of paranoid listening, until he was certain that Tyelperinquar was the only other elf in vicinity, for Maeglin to quickly disrobe and start showering with the lukewarm water from the raintank.

“I forgot to leave you a towel!” He heard Celebrimbor’s voice calling from around the corner.

“Urgh!” Lómion grit his teeth in near panic and jumped off the crate to grab for his used pair of clothes.

“Is it fine if I come over to bring you one?” The smith shouted over the running water.

“Mmmmh…” Maeglin frantically looked over his own body. There were no visible scars left on him. None at all. He was as clean and as whole as the day he was born back in Beleriand.

Despite that, the idea of being seen in just his skin made him shiver.

“No, wait! Wait there!” He called and wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, hurried to approach the corner. He looked around and saw Tyelperinquar facing away with a towel in his hands. “Pass me-”

Celebrimbor reached the towel towards his voice without looking.

“Thank you.” Maeglin said and hurried away, clutching the towel and fighting the shivers that run through him. It was ridiculous - he was ridiculous…

“You must think me so strange!” He found himself shouting back at Tyelperinquar, once he had widened the distance enough. He was still shaking with nerves, even as he made quick work of drying himself. His throat was contrived to a tight ball and he felt so guilty…

“Not at all!” Celebrimbor called. “I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t worry about it!”

Lómion could hear Tyelperinquar walking away and let out a deep sigh of relief.

Stupid tears were welling up in his eyes and he didn’t even know why he was crying. Possibly because he was safe, or because it felt so good to not be judged for once. Or maybe, because he had a feeling that Celebrimbor knew why he was acting the way he did, but had the sympathy not to use the obvious opportunity to hurt him.

He reckoned that by the end, Tyelperinquar had known what happens in the hospitality of the Enemy. There was no need to be ashamed in the company of one, who had suffered as he had.

Gathering his bearing and donning fresh clothes, Maeglin went back into the house.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maeglin eases his mother's worries, sort of...

A week passed quickly with lots of activity in Celebrimbor’s home. At first they seemed to be bumping into each other at every turn - the cottage was small and it was inevitable. Soon things began to fall into gear and a new routine started to emerge, one in which Maeglin was part of every bit of his day, from saying good-morning at breakfast to the goodnight before sleep.

The new bed arrived in due time and the two elves put their formidable minds at work to construct a crane, which was a lot more complex than it needed to be, for the simple task of lifting the bed frame to the second floor. In the days before, Lómion had helped Tyelpe clear up the storage room next to his bedroom, so that he could occupy it immediately once the bed was set up. The new bedchamber still needed to be properly furnished and decorated, an ongoing task for them, but in the meantime the smith tried to accommodate his unlikely guest as best as he could.

On that first night when Celebrimbor returned to his room, he found it difficult to fall asleep. Not because he was _that_ unused to his own bed. It was just that the little sounds, which Maeglin made kept him awake. The elf couldn’t help but overhear his guest’s even breaths and the shuffling of bed-sheets that the wind carried between their neighbouring windows. A part of him was content with someone there, easing his mind and making him relax better than he had in a long time. However, the bigger part of him was so anxious to hold on to each moment of it that sleep was just out of the question.

So instead, Tyelpe stared at the shadows of branches painted by the moonlight on the ceiling of his room and tried not to wonder if things would somehow turn sour for him again.

...

About a week later Maeglin was all set up in the house, having learned all the chores and looking for something to occupy his time.

“Do you have any forging work that needs doing?” His guest had entered the smithy without him noticing.

Tyelpe startled slightly, but his hand didn’t waver from its fine riveting task.

“Well…” Celebrimbor straightened up, leaving the delicate clasp he was making on the workbench. His fingers were covered in soot and metal shavings, so he had to use his forearm to push away stray locks from his eyes. “Let me think…”

The jewelsmith paced around the forge a few times, looking for a task to entrust to the other elf. Maeglin, as usual, stayed rooted on his spot, the only animated part of him were his sharp eyes, which followed Tyelpe's every move.

“Can you cast me some gold ingots?” Celebrimbor asked absently, his mind wandering in too many places at the same time. He had a lot of work to get through after he had put it off in favour of getting Maeglin settled.

“Certainly.” Lómion shrugged. “I’m not a jeweller, but I doubt it differs much from casting iron.”

“Well, if that’s the case, maybe not gold.” Tyelperinquar hummed, turning to look for another task.

Maeglin walked into his pacing trajectory, stopping him in his tracks.

“Do you doubt me?” He asked evenly, but Celebrimbor was close enough to see little sparks of frustration dancing in the other nér’s eyes.

“There are some tricks that I should show you before you start casting gold.” Tyelpe explained, making a move to walk around him. “It's its own beast.”

“Try me!” Maeglin challenged, blocking the smith’s escape attempt with a hand on his chest.

Celebrimbor fixed him a steady look, but when Lómion didn’t bulge, he sighed.

“Alright. Cast one and let me see it before working on more.” He conceded.

Maeglin nodded and turned around silently, making to rummage the workshop’s storages in a search for tools and materials.

“If you need me to tell you where everything is-” Celebrimbor began, but was cut off.

“I’m fine.” Maeglin stated and continued making a point of not needing any help.

Tyelperinquar returned to his task. He soon finished the clasp of the necklace and set it aside in favour of watching the other ellon's labour.

Maeglin worked with self-assurance and admirable precision. He made up for his lack of experience with ingenuity and determination. Soon he was casting molten gold into a neat little ingot. And the entire time he did not look up from his task in search of reassurance or aid.

As he observed, Celebrimbor pondered the other nér’s pride. He had never seen a smith so unwilling to collaborate or exchange knowledge in his life. Thinking of what he knew of the twilight-elf’s history, he supposed that he must have been raised that way by his infamous father, Eöl the dark elf. No one knew the secrets of the black blades, which the smith of Nan Elmoth had forged. By all accounts, Eöl had worked in isolation. It was likely that he was self-taught and was possible that he had enforced the same discipline on his son, teaching him nothing of teamwork.

Tyelperinquar could easily picture a young Maeglin trying to impress his sullen father in a stark, dark forge in the middle of an even darker forest. Because that was the other thing - Celebrimbor was getting the feeling that Maeglin was still trying to prove his worth. Even to Tyelpe, unnecessary as it was. It wasn’t as if he was going to cast Maeglin out if he found his smiting skills less than satisfactory. Celebrimbor thought privately that he would have let Maeglin stay even if he did absolutely nothing at all but speak to him from time to time.

“Come and see.” Lómion beckoned to him.

Tyelperinquar approached and took a look at the precious metal.

“Very good.” He complimented and was glad to see a half-smile form on Lómion’s lips.

“I told you that I can do it.” The other smith divulged.

“Well, yes.” Celebrimbor said, but couldn’t resist adding: “This is a perfect gold ingot, but it’s just that - a gold ingot.”

“Were you expecting something else?” Lómion frowned at him, his smile disappearing.

Tyelpe figured that it was as good a time as any to start teaching the other smith the joys of collaboration.

“Let me show you how to make it better.” Celebrimbor grinned with genuine excitement and picked up the tools and some raw gold chips.

He didn’t wait for an answer and moved to take Maeglin’s place by the furnace. The dark-eyed elf took a couple of steps back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you about to show me what Sauron taught you?” Lómion asked and the edge in his voice gave Celebrimbor pause.

Tyelperinquar stopped what he was doing and turned to face the frowning nér fully. Maeglin had never used that tone on him before, but others had and Celebrimbor knew what it meant.

“Not all that he taught us was evil or malevolent.” The jewelsmith contended. “He taught us a lot about refining precious metals and making them better for withstanding Song, which is useful for making jewelry and powerful objects. The art in itself is harmless - it’s just a sort of preparation for the actual work to be done to the metal later.”

“And you’ve been using the skills that you learned from the enemy to sell jewelry in Valinor.” Lómion’s accusation was less masked now.

“I don't see what's the issue.” Celebrimbor bridled, feeling his heart rate increase. He had been wondering if Maeglin would eventually turn on him and what would it take. It seemed that while he hadn’t cared about the nature of Tyelpe’s relationship with Sauron, he did have his limits.

Lómion took a step back towards the worktable and Tyelperinquar narrowed his eyes. There were so many steel tools that Maeglin could grab - chisels, hammers, sharp-tipped files, pliers...

“Relax.” The dark-eyed elf said evenly, lifting his empty hands in the air between them as one would do to calm a skittish horse. “I don't want to fight you, Celebrimbor.”

Lómion’s expression held no aggression and neither did his stance. Suddenly realising how worked up he had gotten, the smith felt embarrassed.

“I wasn’t - didn’t think-” Tyelpe’s sentence died down. He didn’t know how to finish it without sounding too problematic.

“Put down that hammer, will you?” Maeglin smiled ruefully and Celebrimbor guiltily dropped the hammer that had somehow ended up in his fist.

“I guess I should have expected it.” Maeglin continued, no longer backing away but still keeping his unarmed hands on display between them. “Even after everything, you still couldn’t resist.”

The dark-eyed nér smiled knowingly, but there was no malicious glint in it - only a shrewd understanding. Tyelpe felt like Maeglin was seeing straight through him, and not only regarding the issue of his inability to back down on knowledge regardless of its source. He had known that Maeglin was watching him the entire time, but he hadn't expected the other elf to observe him that keenly. It sent shivers down his spine. 

“If you truly have learned your lesson and know what you’re doing, then it’s fine by me.” Lómion added.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath, trying to relax.

"Is it truly?" He asked, because he needed to know. He wasn't going to tolerate ambiguity around him, not ever again. He had learned a lesson, after all.

"Mandos has judged you and released you. Isn't that what you told me on the day we met?" Lomion smiled that half-smile again. "I'm not the epitome of virtue, but I tend to treat people the same way they treat me. I owe you a chance and you have it."

The sound of galloping horses fast approaching down the dirt road, which lead to Tyelperinquar’s cottage, had them both turning their attention to the small window.

“It must be Lauvelion coming to pick up the wedding bands…” Celebrimbor said, glad for the distraction.

He hurried to pick up the rings before grabbing a polishing cloth and starting to rub imaginary fingerprints off them.

“A bit early, but they are ready, so...” Celebrimbor trailed off and glanced at Maeglin.

“I’ll wait here.” The other smith said and Tyelpe nodded, hurrying to get to the shop’s front.

The hoofs stopped outside the cottage but no elf came in through the doors. As he waited by the counter, Celebrimbor begun to suspect that whoever had come wasn't his customer. He gently placed the bands on the wooden surface and went through the front door to check outside.

The sun was shining brightly as ever - weather in Valinor was never really bad, even when it rained. Blinking at the sunshine, Celebrimbor spotted a beautiful Noldorin lady, just a few yards away, sat atop a white mare. She was clad in silver from head to toe and had luxurious dark hair, which fell all the way pass her waist. Her attention was momentarily on a second horse, which she fed with an apple. A strangely familiar large brown steed...

As if feeling Celebrimbor's gaze on her, the elleth turned around and her lovely face scrunched into a grimace of blind wrath. The apple dropped from her hand and was quickly replaced with a long blade.

Tyelperinquar’s heart jumped at the sound of a sword being unsheathed and he skipped backwards towards the cottage and his own sword, which he had foolishly left behind.

“I’m unarmed!” He shouted, more to alert Lómion of the danger, rather than in hopes of deterring his attacker - kinslayers rarely cared about fairness, Celebrimbor knew from observation of his close family members…

The nís geed her horse and it broke into gallop, reaching Celebrimbor faster than the elf could retreat, blocking his route to safety.

“Where is my son!?” The noblewoman screamed.

“Who?!” Tyelpe gasped, his mouth apparently working faster than his brain, because the moment the question left his lips he realised whom he was dealing with.

“My son!” Aredhel Írissë roared rounding up on him with her sword pointing at his neck. “Where are you keeping him?!”

The cool touch of steel made Celebrimbor freeze in place. Aredhel looked angry enough to behead him without further questions, but thankfully, the son in question jumped out of the cottage just in time to prevent it.

“Mother, no!” Maeglin screamed, crossing the distance swiftly and shoved Tyelperinquar out of the way, stopping between him and Aredhel. “Mother, I’m alright! He’s not keeping me here against my will! Lower your sword!”

Írissë's relief upon seeing her son was palpable, and if Celebrimbor wasn’t shivering with receding shock, he might have thought the reunion adorable.

“Lómion!” She sobbed, eyes filling with tears. “Are you alright? What- what happened? You never came back and your steed-”

Maeglin followed her eyes to the other horse and then swore under his breath. It was quiet enough to be polite, but with Tyelperinquar hiding just behind him, it was unavoidable that he heard the other ellon's exceedingly dirty curses.

“Did this traitorous beast lead you here?” Maeglin fumed and when his mother nodded, he threw Sparklehoof a look that should have been able to kill. The horse didn’t even have the decency to twitch an ear in acknowledgement.

“Sparklehoof is a most noble horse -” Írissë objected. “I am so grateful that he lead me to you! Do you realise how worried we were?”

“By we, you mean, only you.” Lómion countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You know that’s not true! Lómion, we were _all_ worried about you!” Írissë chided her son. “Your uncle was worried. Idril was asking about you-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Maeglin hissed icily. Aredhel looked taken aback but Tyelperinquar on the other hand, had expected it as soon as he heard the name, which seemed to cut his guest as easily as a knife went through butter. “Celebrimbor, do you mind-”

Lómion turned to him and Tyelpe nodded quickly in understanding.

“I’ll be inside. Excuse me-” He bowed briskly to Írissë and hurried to get back into the cottage.

Once inside he tried to ignore the raised voices that were coming from his porch. He picked up the rings, which laid abandoned on the shop counter and carried them back into the workshop, polishing them further along the way.

Even inside his forge he could catch bits and pieces of their argument, which had turned from the issues of Maeglin’s first cousin to his stay in Tyelperinquar’s household.  
_  
“... with Sauron…” “... know whom he is…” “... can’t stay here…”_

_“... don't judge…” “... say the same about me…” “... where I’m welcomed…”_

Celebrimbor sighed and bit his lip. He wasn’t childish enough to press his thumbs into his ears, so he picked up a hammer and began beating a piece of scrap metal just to block the argument out.

Thanks to the noise he was making he didn't hear Lómion’s quick footsteps until the other elf was right at the door.

“Celebrimbor.” Lómion called and Tyelpe turned around to meet his dark gaze.

“Is everything alright?” The smith asked uselessly.

“No.” Maeglin confessed, putting both hands to rest on the doorframe and looked down guiltily. “Aredhel wants me to go back to Tirion with her.”

“Oh.” Tyelpe uttered lamely. His throat tightened and it was difficult to make his next words sound casual. “I understand.”

“I am not going.” Maeglin objected. “I want to stay here.”

Celebrimbor could hardly believe his ears, and he didn’t trust his voice to say anything so he just nodded in acknowledgement.

“Will you come with me, please?” Maeglin implored, extending his hand. It was the first time that Tyelpe had heard the other nér plead for anything.

“Of course.” He said and took the offered hand, allowing the other elf to drag him out of the house to where Aredhel still stood.

She had dismounted from her horse and looked exceedingly fair and graceful, just like her son, who seemingly took after her. But she still managed to look threatening, with protective wrath written over each fine feature and the sword hanging on her hip, looked even more dangerous for it was sheathed.

“Mother, meet my friend and host, Celebrimbor Tyelperinquar from the line of Feanor.” Maeglin announced the smith and stood beside him as Aredhel looked him up and down with distaste.

“Celebrimbor, this is my mother, Aredhel Írissë, daughter of Fingolfin, the White Lady of Gondolin.” Lómion continued the introductions despite his mother’s lack of acknowledgement.

“A star shines over the hour of our meeting.” Tyelperinquar bowed courteously.

Írissë rolled her eyes.

“You are confusing a star with a sword, feanorian.” She answered sardonically.

“Mother, please, treat him with the same respect he’s showing you!” Lómion demanded. “I thought that you, of all people, would know better than to be this way.”

“I know only that my son went missing and I found him in a exiled elf’s house in the middle of the forest.” Aredhel crossed her arms over her fine chest, looking every bit like a female version of her son, with the exception of her bright blue eyes. “Forgive me, if my manners fail me.”

“Celebrimbor is no exile -” Maeglin argued.

“And neither was Eöl.” She cut him off.

“This forest is hardly Nan Elmoth-”

“It doesn’t matter - he’s a worse choice than my husband!”

“Mother, there is hardly room to compare!” Lómion threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I’m not marrying him and he’s not asking me to stay here forever!”

Celebrimbor glanced back to the cottage, trying to think of a way to halt the madness.

“Would you like to stay for lunch, my Lady?” He proposed interrupting their argument. “If words cannot convince you, perhaps seeing how your son fares here might?”

Maeglin and Aredhel looked at each other and then back at him.

“I accept.” She huffed. “But if you try to poison or bewitch me, be wary - I would know!”

…

That evening Írissë rode away on her white horse, more or less satisfied with the answers she had gotten from her visit.

She had insisted until the end that Lómion reconsidered, trying to convince him that his place was in Tirion, but when nothing could change her son's mind, Aredhel promised to come and visit again.

"I will send you some furniture." She had said, in reference to the state of his new bedroom. "You are a prince! You cannot live like this!"

"I hope she doesn't overdo it." Maeglin said as the two ellons stood and watched Aredhel ride away.

"She's just trying to make up for the lost time and show that she cares." Celebrimbor said in her defence.

They stood at the conjunction of the forest road, next to the sign, which pointed towards the path to Tyelperinquar’s forge. Soon Aredhel's horse disappeared from their eyeshot and they could no longer hear her mare's hoofs.

"There will be a time for that." Maeglin said. "I don't want her to know me as I am now. I need to get myself together first."

“Maeglin,” Tyelpe turned to face his companion. “Thank you for defending me so fiercely today. You shouldn’t have, I know that Lady Aredhel did not mean to offend-”

The dark-eye elf shook his head and placed a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder.

“Call me Lómion.” He offered. “No friend of mine ever called me Maeglin.”

“You should have said earlier, Lómion.” Tyelperinquar smiled, finding the name much sweeter on his tongue than its alternative. “You can call me Tyelpe, it’s the name used by my friends.”

Celebrimbor cringed at his own words, an inner voice unhelpfully reminding him that one, who had not truly been his friend, had also used that moniker to address him.

 _“Tyelpe…”_ Annatar’s voice echoed through his head.

If Maeglin noticed the expression of pain that flashed over his features, he did not say anything.

“I will call you that then, Tyelpe.” Lómion smiled and Celebrimbor sighed in relief. It helped to hear it from someone else’s mouth.

It also helped that Lómion’s eyes sparkled like polished onyxes in delight and he looked much younger now, as if a burden had fallen from his shoulders. It was a much better look on him than the usual grim set of his mouth and reserved glare.

“Shall we go back inside?” Celebrimbor offered.

“Yes, we should.” Lómion said, glancing at the slowly darkening sky. “I hope there is still time to show me your secrets of gold-casting.”

“If you want, there is always time.” Celebrimbor agreed, and the two elves walked back the path to the cottage. The lights were on inside, giving an inviting warm light and Tyelpe couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so content.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tyelpe finds evidence that Maeglin isn't made of stone.

Weeks seamlessly turned into months. Time passed quickly in the blessed realm, Lómion supposed. Seasons changed, yet there was barely any difference in the way he lived alongside Tyelperinquar, who taught him jewelcraft and expressed endless enthusiasm to learn the secrets of metal refining, which Eöl’s son had to offer.

Aredhel became a regular visitor and when she wasn’t checking in on Maeglin personally, she sent gifts his way. First there was furniture, and then clothing when Autumn’s chill brought the need for warmer cloaks and furs. She surveyed her son’s comforts every time she came to the cottage, and Lómion had to make it his habit to keep the place in a pleasant state. That included Tyelpe’s rooms, because regardless of how neat the other smith’s work was, Celebrimbor tended to neglect himself and his things more often than not.

Thankfully, Maeglin’s presence and Aredhel’s surprise appearances helped motivate Tyelperinquar to keep his rooms tidy, braid his hair and put some ornaments on his person from time to time.

Making his host presentable became particularly imperative when the lady Írissë started to warm up to Celebrimbor. Once new furniture and clothing began to arrive for Tyelpe as well, Lómion didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or touched by his mother’s shows of affection. Celebrimbor tuned an unprecedented shade of crimson the first time it happened and tried to refuse the gifts, but Maeglin cautioned him against returning the offering.

“She will take it personally and be back with a sword.” The dark-eyed nér said, gripping the jewelsmith’s arm.

“But I can afford these things on my own! I don’t know what she must think of me!” Tyelpe shook his head, trying to hide his blush.

“She likes you, that’s all. Don’t throw her feelings back into her face or she will be mortally wounded. My mother is a lot more sensitive than you know.” Lómion insisted, running his hand up and down the other smith’s back to placate him.

The couple of Noldor elves who had brought the cart with Aredhel’s gifts looked unimpressed.

“So, should we take these back or not?” One of them asked.

“No.” Maeglin answered for Celebrimbor. “Just drop them off here.”

That settled the matter more or less.

…

Winter came to Valinor with fluffy snow and refreshingly cool temperatures. It was the first one for Lómion since his rebirth, and given how it lacked any of Middle Earth’s bitterness, the ellon wondered if the turn of seasons in Aman was a natural phenomenon, or if Manwe and Yavanna just collaborated to create a different atmosphere for the purpose of entertaining the Eldar.

As he walked amongst the white-frosted trees, beside streams that still flowed with only a small film of ice forming at the edges, Lómion supposed the latter. It did do the trick - elves loved nature and even the Noldor felt a bond to it. So, with the waning of the days, Celebrimbor and he lit up the hearth every night, drank warm tea and ate game more often than during the sunny days of summer. The snow covering the windowsill and the tiny icicles hanging from the roof brought a festive mood, making them buy ginger cookies from the Silvan village market and drink butterbeer in its pub. Regardless of Maeglin’s initial fear of being unwelcomed, it turned out that the forest elves cared little about his misdeeds amongst the Noldor, even if they were still wary of him.

And so it happened that on a particular winters day, Maeglin was coming back from the woods with a few hares caught in his snears. He was already imagining how Celebrimbor was going to prepare them, when he saw a familiar dark horse in front of the cottage that he had begun to regard as his home.

“What are you doing here, Sparklehoof?” The ellon grumbled without real resentment. He had stopped feeling truly exasperated at the temperamental horse a while ago.

Sparklehoof shot him an indifferent glance before continuing his lunch on the straw that Tyelperinquar used to start up fire in their forge. Lómion rolled his eyes.

The sight of unfamiliar footsteps on the snow path gave Maeglin pause. Someone had come, he realised, and given Sparklehoof’s presence and his penchant for bringing trouble, the smith supposed that the visitor could only be from Tirion.

Hanging his catch by the shed, Lómion carefully let himself into the cottage, opening and closing the front door soundlessly. He could overhear voices, both of which familiar, yet he had trouble placing the one, which didn’t belong to Celebrimbor.

“... beautiful works. And this tiara- ” That voice sounded, but Maeglin couldn’t put his finger on the identity of the nér speaking.

“He made that one actually.” Celebrimbor said in a tone, which meant that he was feeling particularly pleased.

“Truly? He is really talented, isn’t he! He didn’t used to do any jewelry in Gondolin-”

Hearing that city’s name coming from that mouth, Lómion knew that it was Turgon speaking. His uncle had a special way of enunciating the name of the city, which he had built. As if all the love and effort he had put into raising it could be contained in a word. All of which Maeglin had put to waste with his betrayal, the dark-eyed elf thought bitterly.

“Yes, he learns so quickly!” Tyelperinquar praised him and continued to chatter about Maeglin’s achievements and presumably showing his works to his uncle, who hummed in response.

Lómion stealed to the doorframe that lead into the forge, peaking around to glance at the two elves. Celebrimbor was dressed for work, as usual, while Turgon was finely clad in a heavy white cloak, lined with grey fur. His long dark hair fell over his back in luxurious waves. It reached all the way to his waist, with an intricately woven silver circlet weighting it down at his head, marking him as a High Lord of the Noldor.

“So you two take commissions, I see.” Turgon said, making to turn around.

Maeglin jerked back, pressing himself against the wall, which separated them.

No one noticed his quick movement. Celebrimbor and Turgon had many fine qualities, which he envied, but neither of them had the instincts or reflexes of a woodland creature. Such had been bred into Lómion by both his parents. Írissë was a natural-born huntress and had often told him that he had inherited his father’s swiftness and soft-footedness, back when such a comparison to Eöl had not been an offence for either of them.

Regardless of where he had gotten it from, Maeglin had always found his ability to sneak around useful, especially when surrounded by Noldor, who for all their excellence were generally not so good at spotting things that they did not expect. At least not until it was too late.

“Do you get much work here?” His uncle was asking.

Celebrimbor must have answered with some kind of gesture, because next Turgon spoke:

“Don’t you think that if you move to Tirion you would get a lot more business?”

“Tirion…” Tyelpe sounded cautious.

“You will have my support.” Turgon insisted. “You don’t have to worry about your reception there now that I know you are out of the halls. You should have come to me, kinsman.”

“I did not know.” Celebrimbor responded tentatively. “But I thank you greatly, cousin.”

Turgon let out a delighted laugh, accompanied with the sound of movement. With his sharp senses, Maeglin judged that his uncle was now standing closer to Celebrimbor.

“So, will you give it a thought? Aredhel suffers from the separation with her son. She’s been waiting so many years for Maeglin and now he is far away. She grieves.” Turgon continued.

Lómion bit his lower lip, tasting anger and bitterness on his tongue. Of course this kindness was all because of Aredhel - his uncle only sought to accommodate his sister. His love for her was known to all, but putting up with not one, but two pariahs had to be a new high even for the generous Lord of Gondolin, the dark-eyed ellon thought.

“I will have to consult with him on this.” Tyelperinquar responded. “But will you not stay to speak to him in person? Perhaps if he sees you here, he would find it more convincing than any words I might relay back to him.”

“I don’t think he would be happy to see me. I think that perhaps the word of a friend might have more sway over my nephew than the invitation of the Lord of Gondolin.”

There was a pause and then Turgon spoke again.

“Please tell him that he would be welcomed and that we miss him.” His uncle claimed and after a pause added, “It bothers me that he choose not to stay with us. I don’t know - have I done him wrong? Has he told you?”

“It is not my place to say.” Celebrimbor divulged, his voice sounding harder. “But I don’t think so. At least, I don’t think that he feels you’ve done him wrong since his rebirth.”

“Does he hate me?” Turgon asked and Maeglin blinked disbelievingly, hearing the naked hurt in his uncle’s tone.

“No! I don’t believe he hates any of you.” Thankfully Celebrimbor was quick to reassure Turgon. Something in Lómion had constricted painfully when he heard his uncle’s question. How could Turgon think such a thing! Of course, Maeglin didn’t hate them. He lov-

“Surely he has cause to.” Turgon lamented. “I often blame myself for what happened. I should have noticed the change in him. I should have paid more attention and asked him what had transpired during the time he was away. If only I had found out earlier, all of this could have been prevented-”

Lómion grit his teeth, digging his nails into his palms painfully. He was barely capable of remaining in hiding. It hurt him more than he had anticipated to hear his uncle speak so. It wasn’t his guilt, the blame was all of Maeglin’s own… How dared Turgon take it away-

“He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself!” Celebrimbor insisted. “I don’t know exactly what transpired, but I reckon this sort of thinking wouldn’t help anyone. Lómion needs to learn to live with his actions and to be forgiven for them. Erasing his deeds means denying him the chance to gain absolution as well.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right. Well, I have forgiven him. Idril has forgiven him as well.” Turgon admitted and Maeglin’s heart leapt at the mention of _her_ name. “Do you know if he still loves my daughter?”

The answering pause made Lómion shake to the core with nerves. What was Celebrimbor going to say?! He should have told the other smith not to discuss him with his family - with anyone!

 _Please, Tyelpe, don’t screw this up!_ He urged mentally. _Don’t betray me!_

“This is none of my business.” Tyelpe enunciated, mercifully. But then, he undid the effect by stupidly adding, “However, even if he does, he shouldn't be judged for it. His love for her was pure, I am convinced of it, no matter what evil it conceived.”

 _Oh Tyelpe! I’m going to kill you!_ Maeglin squeezed his eyes tightly shut and bit his tongue in frustration. He wanted to be angry with his friend, but the fact that Tyelperinquar was trying to defend him, even if in that way Tyelpe had pretty much given him away, didn’t help keep his ire for long.

“I believe so too - otherwise Mandos wouldn’t have allowed him to exit the halls.” Turgon confessed. There was a hesitant pause and then his uncle asked. “And how about the two of you?”

There was another long silence and Maeglin couldn’t fathom what was going on, so he chanced a peek around the corner. He got a very brief glance of Turgon and Celebrimbor, sizing each other up. Tyelperinquar had his arms crossed and Turgon looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“How are you getting along?” Turgon elaborated when Celebrimbor didn’t answer.

“Yeah… Good.” Tyelpe said warily.

Maeglin frowned deeply, glancing over the edge once again, only to see Celebrimbor take a seat and Turgon doing the same. A workbench was separating them and Celebrimbor rested his elbows on it, while Turgon was fussing with his multilayered regalia, arranging its folds almost nervously.

“You are doing a lot of wedding pieces together. I mean-” Turgon said and Celebrimbor let out a sigh.

“Weddings, begettings - our work isn’t cheap and we usually get commissions for big occasions.” The smith responded.

“Yes, I am certain.” Turgon offered. “But with all the romance of those creations… I thought… No?”

Celebrimbor laughed.

“I think a golden haired elleth would have a better chance.” He professed and Turgon hummed in response.

“That’s why you should come to Tirion.” His uncle urged. “There are plenty of elleths looking for pretty trinkets to buy, and also handsome bachelors to impress. I don’t suppose many maidens come this way?”

Maeglin frowned. He sorely wished to check their body language for more cues on the strange turn of their conversation, but he couldn’t risk another look without Tyelpe spotting him.

“No, not many.” Celebrimbor agreed. “You might be right. I will relay this argument to him.”

They both laughed and it sounded amiable.

“But what about you? You care about him, don’t you?” Turgon said and Maeglin found himself listening intently. What the hell was his uncle going on about?

“Of course.” Celebrimbor admitted easily. “With all the legends, I’d never have supposed, but he’s not difficult to care about.”

“Yes.” Turgon agreed. “He’s much easier to love than he knows.”

There was a pause.

“I love him also,” His uncle continued making Maeglin’s breath hitch. “And I want to see him happy. I don’t know, it’s not my business… But- Well. I wish you both the best.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Celebrimbor responded and it was hard to judge his tone without seeing his expression.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose any further.” Turgon began, the sound of a chair moving accompanying the statement.

“Not at all, are you certain you don’t want to wait for him to return?”

Maeglin took that as his cue to slip away. Softly he crept up the ladder to the second floor and perched there, listening still as the two elves made their way towards the front door.

“No, no. I think it’s best if he doesn’t see me here.” Turgon was saying. “And cousin-”

Tyelpe hummed as they stopped pretty much just underneath Maeglin’s hiding spot.

“You will tell him right?” His uncle implored. “Aredhel will be overjoyed and I think even Idril will be happy to see you there. Both of you. She has never met you, Celebrimbor, and we are family after all.”

“I will tell him of your invitation.” Tyelperinquar reassured him.

Turgon began saying his polite farewells and Maeglin almost sighed in relief, but Celebrimbor interrupted his uncle with a strange urgency, unlike anything he had heard in the smith’s voice in all of their shared time.

“Cousin, there is something I must ask you-” Tyelpe’s voice trailed off and Maeglin could no longer hear what was being said, the words too soft even for his sharp hearing.

Leaning over the edge, he saw Celebrimbor and Turgon speaking very quietly and standing close to each other. Tyelpe’s eyes were glassy and he looked devastated by whatever his uncle was telling him.

“I’m sorry, cousin.” Turgon said, his voice gaining volume as he stepped away.

“It’s alright.” Tyelpe said and to his credit, his voice didn’t shake. “Thank you for the information.”

“I wish I had more to tell you.” Turgon apologised.

“This is already enough. Thank you.” Celebrimbor assured him.

After they said their goodbyes and Sparklehoof’s trot sounded into the distance, Maeglin slid down the ladder and lept into the forge where he found Celebrimbor staring blankly out the window.

“Aaye!” He greeted curtly, startling the jewelsmith.

“Oh, Lómion.” Tyelpe turned around, looking distracted. “Someone was here for you-”

“Yes, I know.” Maeglin cut him off, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning a hip on the table tersely.

“You do?” Celebrimbor looked perplexed.

“Yeah, I heard you talking to Turgon about me.”

“What- Why didn’t you- What do you mean, you heard me talking to him?” Celebrimbor floundered, a deep frown appearing on his otherwise smooth forehead.

“I decided not to make myself know.” Lómion responded. “And I’d like to kindly ask you, never again to discuss me when I’m not there.”

Celebrimbor’s jaw dropped and he looked completely taken aback.

“I don’t understand you.” The smith stated and he took off his leather gloves, throwing them on his worktable with a slap. “If you didn’t want me to answer questions on your behalf, you should have answered them yourself.”

“I didn’t want to talk to him!” Maeglin exclaimed, watching Celebrimbor as the other ellon walked pass him and exited the forge.

When the feanorian didn’t return, and the sound of the front door announced that he had left the cottage, Lómion sacrificed his pride and chased after him.

He saw Tyelperinquar walking towards the snowy woods.

“Tyelpe, wait!” Maeglin called, running after him. Celebrimbor didn’t slow down or look back. “At least put on your cloak, you stubborn mule!”

Lómion caught up with him quickly enough, but stopping him wasn’t such an easy task. They grappled shortly, and Maeglin found himself thrown on his back before he knew what was happening. Thankfully the knee-deep snow cushioned his fall and the only thing hurt was his ego.

“Oh no you don’t!” He swore, snatching Tyelperinquar’s ankle as the other nér made to walk away, sending him face-first into the fresh snow.

“What do you want?!” Celebrimbor shouted as soon as he rose to his elbows and wiped off the snow from his face. His dark hair was still snow-caked and so were his eyebrows and eyelashes. There were patches of wet snow quickly melting off his skin, which Lómion had found warmer than was normal for most elves, the few times he had touched it.

“Nothing!” He snarled back, stubbornly. “Just to know what Turgon invited us to.”

“Oh, so it’s _us_ now!” Celebrimbor answered just as willfully and stumbled to his feet. Maeglin, still on the ground, launched himself at Celebrimbor’s long legs, wrapping his arms around them and sending the other smith straight back into the snow.

“Yes, us. I heard Turgon invite you too.” Maeglin clarified, and climbed on Celebrimbor’s back, in an attempt to hold him down.

“Get off me!” Celebrimbor hissed.

“Not until you tell me what I want to know!” Lómion insisted.

“Get off me, or I will hurt you.” Celebrimbor spoke and it was a quiet thing, lacking emotion.

Cold shivers run down Maeglin’s back, his instincts perceiving the seriousness of the threat faster than his mind and then, suddenly realising his error, he scrambled off. Mentally kicking himself for unwittingly pressing Celebrimbor’s buttons, he hurried to pull the other elf up as well.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised, feeling his stomach clench in remorse. He had come to understand that Tyelpe didn’t like being pressured, not even in a harmless or playful way. Not after the way his previous life had ended.

Celebrimbor’s skin was at once whiter and flushed in places from the cold and the exertion. He shook off melting snow from his person without meeting Lómion’s gaze.

“It’s fine.” Tyelpe gritted between his teeth. “I’m alright. Don’t treat me as if I’m made of glass.”

“I wasn’t concerned about _your_ fragility.” Maeglin attempted a joke, but when it fell flat he added, “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I blamed you for talking to Turgon earlier. You were right - I should have spoken to him myself.”

That got Tyelperinquar’s attention and his stance relaxed. Small shivers shook him - he wasn’t wearing much more than a linen shirt, breeches and his work apron, and he was drenched.

“Here-” Maeglin offered, taking off his plated cloak and draping it around the other smith’s broad shoulders.

“Oh come on-” Tyelpe protested but didn’t return the cloak.

“Can we go back now?” Maeglin asked hopefully. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I won’t.” Celebrimbor claimed, but whatever strange mood had come over him earlier had thankfully passed and he followed Lómion back to the cottage.

...

Once Tyelpe had changed and dried in front of the small fireplace, Maeglin brought each of them a tea. They sat together, holding the steaming mugs as the light of the afternoon slowly faded away.

“He wanted to invite us to the festival in his house for Yule.” Celebrimbor volunteered, making Maeglin look up from his hot drink. “He said that he’d be delighted to see you, and that he’d welcome me too. He also said that Aredhel has been missing you sorely and that coming back for Yule would make her very happy.”

Maeglin remained silent, thinking dourly.

“So, what do you think?” Celebrimbor prompted after a long pause. “Do you want to go?”

“I…” Lomion sighed. “I want to make my mother happy. It’s just -”

He looked at Celebrimbor and found the smith waiting for his words patiently. He supposed he owed an explanation to him for earlier. Gathering his resolve Lómion continued:

“Tirion is too much.” He said. “There are too many familiar faces there. Too many of them judge me. But worst of all is that there is one amongst them, whose judgement I cannot bare without falling apart. If she looks at me with the disdain I deserve-”

“He said that she has forgiven you.” Of course, Celebrimbor knew he spoke of Idril. “Your uncle even said that she’d be happy to see us there.”

“And you believe him?” Maeglin asked, but his questions sounded more hopeful than sarcasting for his own liking.

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Tyelperinquar ventured. “Don’t you wish to heal?”

“Of course I do!” Maeglin bristled, then quickly deflated. “It’s just, I don’t really believe that Turgon has forgiven me.”

“You should have spoken to him.” Celebrimbor repeated the sentiment from earlier. “Perhaps if you saw what I saw on his face you wouldn’t have doubted his intentions.”

“It was cowardly, wasn’t it.” Maeglin sighed and thankfully, Tyelpe didn’t answer.

“And what was that other thing you spoke of?” Lómion ventured after a while.

His friend narrowed his eyes.

“Which other thing?”

“You asked him something before he left.” Maeglin said, feeling slightly uncomfortable with his own eavesdropping.

“How long were you there?” Celebrimbor frowned.

“I was there at the end.” The dark-eyed nér admitted.

“Where were you hiding?!” Celebrimbor was looking at him as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“If I tell you, you will know where to look for me next time.” Maeglin winked, trying to brush off his guilt.

“If there is another time of this, I might just evict you.” Celebrimbor said, and the steely edge underlying his tone let Lómion know that he wasn’t joking.

Maeglin swallowed thickly.

“Alright, I promise not to eavesdrop on you ever again.” He vowed. “But can you promise me that you will never discuss my feelings for her with anyone?”

“If you heard that, then you must have been there for the better part of it.” Celebrimbor leaned back into his chair.

They stared each other down for a long moment before Tyelperinquar broke it off with a sign.

“Alright, I accept. No more eavesdropping and I won’t discuss you with anyone. Not even those who obviously care about you and might just wish to help you.” He alleged tersely.

“Oh, and you are one of those people?” Maeglin remembered with a grin. “You said you cared about me.”

“You are making me regret it.” Celebrimbor warned.

“I don’t believe you. I bet you like me because I’m problematic, just like you.” The dark-eyed elf teased.

“Change of topic!” Tyelpe called.

“Very well, I have another question. What were you whispering about with Turgon?” Maeglin quipped.

“You are impossible!” Celebrimbor rose to his feet. “Can’t I keep some things to myself?”

“I thought we were not going to keep secrets from each other.” Lómion followed suit.

The feanorian bit his lip, graciously stopping whatever comments he could have made about Maeglin invading his privacy earlier. In the end his grey eyes turned away, and he seemed tired of fighting.

“I was merely asking about my mother.” Tyelpe admitted and it caught the other smith off-guard. It was the last thing he had expected. “I wanted to know if Turgon knew where she has been. He didn’t know much, but...”

Celebrimbor’s voice trailed off.

“You never told me that she was missing.” Lómion frowned.

“That’s because she isn’t.” Tyelpe said. “It’s just that she wants to distance herself from her previous family. She has broken her marriage bonds with Curufin and is currently helping others in Irmo’s gardens.”

“Have you tried to approach her?” Maeglin asked, carefully. Celebrimbor was still avoiding his gaze, and once again his grey eyes had that distracted glassy quality to them as he looked at some spot on the wall.

“I didn’t know where she was until Turgon told me.” The feanorian said and then shook his head. “I didn’t dare ask other elves about such personal matters and I didn’t know whom to turn to about this. I was hoping that she would find me-”

Tyelpe looked dangerously close to crying and Lómion took a step towards him, opening his arms. Celebrimbor lifted his palm to stop him and shook his head.

“It’s alright. Really.”

“I’m sure it is.” Lómion stated and pulled his friend into an embrace. Tyelpe tensed but then he wrapped his arms around Maeglin and squeezed. He pressed his face into Lómion’s shoulder and the dark-eyed ellon had no more doubts that the smith was crying.

“The Valar didn’t want to tell me.” Celebrimbor uttered after a while, still sobbing against Maeglin’s shoulder. “They told me that it had to be her choice. I didn’t know what they meant then. I didn’t know that she had died. She spent a long time in the Halls. Almost as long as me. But Turgon doesn’t know why or how it happened.”

“I thought she didn’t follow Fëanor to Middle Earth?” Lómion inquired.

“She didn’t. In fact, the last time I saw her was just after Alqualondë. She didn’t want to follow the host and she intended to keep me with her. She must have been trying to escape my father, but he found us. My uncle Celegorm was with him. I don’t remember much, I was too young, but I do know that there was an argument and that my uncle took me away as they shouted at each other.” Tyelperinquar spoke quickly, sobs punctuating his words. “I don’t know what happened, but I fear the worst. My father was not himself - he was still covered in the blood he spilled at the harbour. He was - he looked utterly mad.”

“You think that he murdered her?” Maeglin spoke, his throat constricting, a memory of his own flashing through his mind. The worst one that he had of his previous life. Worse than all the torture, which he had endured at the hands of the enemy, worse even than the memory of his own death. It was that of Eöl lifting a hand against him, but killing his mother instead. Instinctively he squeezed Celebrimbor closer, seeking comfort as much as he was giving it.

“I don’t think he could have!” Tyelpe protested, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. “I don’t think he would have - he loved her.”

Lómion stroked his back, trying to comfort him.

“He grieved her loss and he missed her - I remember him crying when he thought I wasn’t looking. Or when I asked if we would get to see her again.” Celebrimbor recalled. “Yet I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened. Perhaps an accident.”

“Yes.” Maeglin breathed. “These things happen.”

“They do, don’t they.” Celebrimbor laughed bitterly, nodding in understanding of their shared grief.

“They do.” Lómion chuckled between tears, pulling away slightly to brush them away.

Somewhat embarrassed, the two ellons stepped away from each other, wiping tears.

“Feeling better?” Maeglin tried to sound jovial, but it sounded slightly broken.

“Yes, thank you.” Celebrimbor sighed, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his cooling tea.

“Well, if you ever want to see her-” Lómion ventured carefully, “- we could go to Irmo’s gardens together.”

“Thank you.” Celebrimbor smiled tentatively.

“Any time.” Maeglin affirmed, looking away as he wondered if he should say the next words or not. In the end he decided that there would be no better time to utter them, so he added, “I’ve come to care about you as well. Believe it or not.”

Celebrimbor laughed.

“Oh, miracle of miracles!” He exclaimed in mock awe. “Lómion, I was starting to think that you are made of stone.”

“Well, what do you know.” Maeglin shrugged sheepishly. “Even a stone would be grateful if you took it in as you did with me.”

“You are making me want to bring in the poor homeless pebbles, freezing outside on our porch.” Celebrimbor deadpanned.

“Very funny. Tyelperinquar, you are something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love your comments, so leave them here!  
> Next chapter: Our heros need to brush up on their dance moves as festivities are on the way, and some dreaded reunions are on schedule.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maeglin and Celebrimbor travel to Tirion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised festivities and reunions, but this in-between chapter sort of happened. I hope you enjoy it!  
> 

Two weeks later a comfortable wagon bearing the crest of the house of Fingolfin arrived to pick them up.

A letter from Turgon had alerted them for it’s coming and Lómion was as ready as he was ever going to be to go back to Tirion for the blasted celebrations.

Maeglin handed the last of his luggage to the driver before looking over his shoulder to see Celebrimbor approaching with his suitcase. The other elf was wearing a luxurious velvet cloak, which Aredhel had sent him, Lómion noticed with appreciation. The colour was silver-grey and it brought out the metallic sparks in Tyelpe’s eyes very handsomely.

“You look a little grim.” Celebrimbor noted, eyes surveying Lómion’s own attire.

Maeglin bit his lower lip. From the knee-length boots to the fur-lined cloak, he had chosen only charcoal hues. It was the only colour he was comfortable wearing in front of the kind of crowd they were about to face in Tirion - previous residents of Gondolin and their relatives.

“It’s tradition.” He said simply, knowing that his friend was bright enough to gleam exactly what he meant.

"Is it really a good idea to remind the people of Tirion of the past?” Celebrimbor didn’t disappoint.

“Perhaps not.” Maeglin sighed, turning slightly to regard him, before picking up the other smith’s baggage and lifting it to their second driver.

“We shall find out soon enough.” Lómion continued, opening the cabin door for Tyelperinquar.

The other smith nodded his thanks and stepped into the wagon with a brief glance over his shoulder at the cottage.

Maeglin followed after him and took the seat across from him.

The cabin was elegant and big enough to carry eight. Each of them had space to lounge on the long seats on either side. The ride was going to be long, but as comfy as possible, thanks to Turgon. Lómion tried to feel grateful, if not a little anxious and resentful over the feeling of inadequacy, which harried him at being treated so well by one he had wronged so much.

The younger of the two elves, which Turgon had sent, knocked on the glass of the cabin’s door.

“We are ready to depart, my Lords.” He said, looking nervous.

Lómion nodded and the young ellon hurried to jump to the front. Promptly, the wagon set off on the snow-covered forest path.

Celebrimbor leaned into the backrest and smiled at Lómion. The feanorian looked excited about the whole affair, contrary to the other ellon's uncontrollable dread.

“You are not wearing any jewelry.” Tyelpe noted.

“And you are wearing too much.” Maeglin answered crossly, trying to end the conversation. He was really not in the mood for chatter.

“Should I take this off?” The smith asked, reaching for the silver necklace, which hung over his dark tunic.

Tyelpe took it off before Maeglin could react.

“No, leave it on.” He objected, feeling guilty. He grabbed Celebrimbor's hand before the other elf managed to tuck the necklace away. “You are not wearing too much jewelry. I was being an ass.”

Tyelpe gave him a distrustful look and Lómion slid into the seat beside him, taking the necklace from his hands and clasping it back on his neck.

“You look great, Tyelpe.” Maeglin assured him, and went back to his own seat. “Don’t mind anything I said earlier - I’m feeling a little bit out of it.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Celebrimbor’s smile flickered briefly. “But I can see you struggling with this journey to Tirion. Are you sure you are alright with going?"

Lómion looked down to his black boots, with their black laces, and the black sleeves of his pale hands that rested on his knees.

“If you want my honest answer, I wish I hadn’t agreed to this.” He confessed.

“There is still time to turn back.” Celebrimbor reached over the scant distance, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure Turgon and Aredhel would understand.”

“And what about you?” Maeglin looked up at him. “I’d be letting you down too. Don't deny it.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive.” Celebrimbor smiled slightly.

Maeglin chewed on his lip harder and looked away. The idea was very tempting. All he had to do was tell the drivers to turn the wagon around and take them back to the cottage. Then he didn't need to deal with Tirion, the people who knew him, and most importantly, he didn't have to face Idril.

The thought of seeing her radiance next to that mortal-born man, continuing her life happily without needing Lómion even one bit - it broke the dark-eyed nér’s heart all over again. And Yule meant feasts, celebrations, dances, gifts - so many rituals meant for those who share love - it was all just a cruel reminder of all the ways that he wasn’t allowed to be happy with the beautiful Celebrindal.

However, as much as he wanted to give in to his inner voice, screaming that going to Tirion was only going to get him hurt, another part of him couldn't possibly deny Celebrimbor something, which would make the other elf happy. Tyelpe had been looking forward to the Yule celebration, even if he had tried to underplay his excitement. Maeglin had no doubt that it was going to be the first after many spent alone and even if Lómion could keep him company this time, it wasn’t the same as being invited back into Noldor society. Maeglin had no doubt that it was something Celebrimbor had wanted for a while.

Plus Celebrimbor had repeated Turgon’s words about Tirion’s unwed nissies, in a rather hopeful manner, gushing over the idea of meeting someone new and insisting that Lómion could do the same. Of course, both of them knew that it was unlikely that any local elleth, or ellon, would even consider elves such as them for marriage. Both of them carried a stigma, no matter what strings Turgon was willing to pull. And there was also the fact that Maeglin’s heart was still so hopelessly caught on Idril that he didn’t _want_ to meet anybody else.

Realising that his friend was still waiting for an answer, Lómion sighed wearily.

“We are going.” He said with finality.

It wasn’t going to be that bad, Maeglin reasoned. He could see Aredhel and just skip the public festivities. Celebrimbor, on the other hand, could go enjoy the celebrations and do whatever it was normal people did at events like that. Maybe he would even meet someone intelligent enough to look past his history and see the many good qualities, which the youngest feanorian possessed. He truly hoped so, for his friend’s sake.

Tyelpe beamed in response.

…

The journey to Tirion was about a week long, even with two drivers and the regular swapping of the tired horses for rested ones in the Noldor villages along the way.

The advantage of having Turgon’s men with them was that they had no need for introductions and everywhere they were treated with respect. It was as if they were but a pair of nobles, traveling through Eldamar to Tirion for Yule. It gave Maeglin a little peace of mind.

The first three nights they staid in luxurious inns, chosen by Turgon for their excellence. No expense had been spared on them, Lómion noted - each had his own room with more commodities than the dark-eyed nér had expected for a road-side accommodation.

They journey went easily enough. Once the initial dread had passed, Maeglin begun to relax and engaged in easy conversations with Tyelperinquar. Tyelpe’s mood seemed to only improve as well. He looked out the window often and told stories of his childhood in Valinor. They were all happy and Lómion wondered if his friend’s childhood had truly been so ideal, or if Celebrimbor was only choosing the nice stories to tell.

At some point, the other smith proposed that they sing to pass the time.

“I don’t sing.” Maeglin refused.

“Why?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just don’t.”

“Have you tried?”

“No, and I don’t plan to.” Maeglin said and that concluded the topic. Celebrimbor didn’t sing either, saying something about only enjoying singing with company.

They made good progress through the snow-covered country until the fourth day of their journey when the weather suddenly turned sour.

A snowstorm forced their group to seek refuge in a small roadside inn in the middle of a wintry forest.

Lómion pushed open the cabin door with difficulty, the blizzard outside pushing it back with formidable force. The frosty air cut the dark-eyed ellon’s face and once he hopped out, he found himself in waist-deep snow. Celebrimbor followed and the two threaded to the barely distinguishable path, which lead to a two-storey inn.

“I thought seasons in Valinor were not natural!” Maeglin shouted over the hauling storm.

“As in?” Tyelpe shouted back as they reached the door of the tavern and hurried inside bringing in snow with their footsteps. The inside was packed to the brim with other travellers, surprised by the bad weather conditions much like themselves.

“Nevermind, I will tell you later.” Lómion lowered his tone, eyeing the folk inside.

Their drivers entered shortly after. The two elves had needed to bring the horses to the stables before seeking shelter for themselves and were covered in snow from head to toe. They immediately headed towards the overcrowded area around the hearth, while Maeglin waited by the entrance for Celebrimbor to finish speaking with the innkeeper.

“They don’t have any rooms left.” Celebrimbor said, returning to Lómion. “The innkeeper said that he has already given out everything, including the spaces in the cellar and the attic. However, he said a couple of elves will be sleeping in the stables.”

Maeglin cringed, understanding where that was going.

“I think we should consult Helaeth before making a choice. He knows the road and would be the one to drive us through the storm.” Tyelpe proposed.

Lómion nodded and they joined the two wagon drivers, presenting the issue at hand.

“With your permission, my Lords.” Helaeth, the senior of the two, spoke. “The weather is too dangerous to venture onwards. It might sicken the horses or worse. The stables aren’t the best place for elves, and at night there will be nippy at best, but it’s a better option than what lies ahead.”

Silvanel, his apprentice nodded in agreement and so did Celebrimbor. All eyes turned on Lómion.

“We will stay here.” He declared, trying not to imagine how they would smell after a night in the stables.

“I will let the innkeeper know.” Celebrimbor offered. “In the meanwhile, should we order some hot supper?”

....

Contrary to Lómion’s expectations, the evening in the tavern turned out fun. The blizzard outside howled in the chimney, but the fire roared heartily and wine and ale flowed like rivers, loosening all tongues and bringing the strangers together. Soon songs, chatter and cheer filled the small pub and the storm was temporarily forgotten.

They ate the inn’s simple fair, enjoying the hot vegetable stew way more thanks to the chill outside. Celebrimbor kept ordering their small company round after round of drinks, soon the four elves were laughing and drinking together like old friends.

Maeglin and Celebrimbor spoke little and even less about themselves, but that was fine, since young Silvanel turned out to be quite a storyteller, and Helaeth had a couple of funny songs with barely disguised innuendo. Thus, merrily, they carried out well past midnight, until the barmaid came to tell them that it was time to retire to their makeshift beds for the night.

A stable boy lead them outside through a side door. The storm had passed, but the drift could reach almost to a full-grown elf’s chest.

The hostler lead them ahead with a brazier, its fire flickering against the biting cold of the frosty winter night. The ellon pushed open the wooden stable door where amongst horses, some travelers slept under thick hay padding, covered by blankets and cloaks. There was a fair amount of drunken snoring even if the elves themselves were barely visible under the heaps of dried grass and clothing.

“This is the place for the lords.” The hostler indicated a nook, where a large heap of fresh straw had been thrown over the older one on the floor. “The rest of you can follow me-”

“Goodnight!” Celebrimbor wished with drunken joviality and a slightly too loud voice, which earned him a grumble from somewhere nearby.

“Goodnight, my gracious Lord!” Helaeth called back, pushing Silvanel, the poor ellon barely able to balance, least of all speak.

Lómion put a hand on a wooden beam, steadying himself in order to look at the space they had been given. There was lots hay and little more than that.

“Can we have some blankets?” He called after the stableboy.

“I’m afraid they are finished, sir!” Came the answer.

“I’m not cold at all.” Celebrimbor stated and threw himself on top of the hay heap.

“That’s because you are drunk.” Maeglin pointed out. He was not intoxicated enough to be completely devoid of reason. Tyelpe on the other hand was already fast asleep.

“Great.” Lómion groaned to himself.

After painstakingly laboring to separate the straw into two heaps, despite his blurry vision and wavering balance, Maeglin managed to prepare two hay nests for each of them.

“Wake up!” The dark-eyed elf rolled his friend with his foot and the feanorian hummed in dismay.

“Get in there - come on!” Lómion took his arm and guided him into one of the straw cushions he had created.

Celebrimbor murmured something as Maeglin tucked him in, covering him fully in hay. Surprisingly, Tyelpe felt warm, unlike Lómion, whose hands were already friggid. The temperature in the stable was much better than that outside, but it was still low enough for his breath to come out as steam.

Once he was done with Tyelperinquar, Maeglin hurried to jump into the other heap of straw and bundle up as much as possible. The dark-eyed nér pulled his padded cloak firmly about, shivering despite his best attempts to get warm.

Trying in vain to fight the chill, Lómion spent about half an hour torturing himself. After a while, he was certain that he was going to freeze to death if he fell asleep that way. The cold was so bitter that Maeglin sobered up, feeling the chill even more acutely.

Shaking violently and teeth chattering, Lómion looked over to his friend. Celebrimbor seemed to be sleeping just fine and the snoring of other elves made Maeglin wonder if from all of them, he was the only one unable to endure the chill. The thought made him feel terribly inadequate and he cursed himself for his weakness.

However, it was impossible to remain still any longer. He got out of the straw and begun moving, trying to get the blood flowing through his numbed limbs.

As he paced through the little space allowed for them, his eyes inadvertently strayed to the little cocoon, which his friend occupied. Lómion kept wondering whether it was warm in there, and if there was any excuse to get into Celebrimbor’s hay.

Driven nearly insane by the cold, Maeglin decided to find out and stuck his hand under the straw padding. He touched some part of Tyelpe’s back and it was so blessedly toasty around him, that before Lómion had time to berate himself about it, he was sliding next to Tyelperinquar’s warm body.

The jewelsmith shifted half-awake, making a questioning sound.

“It’s me.” Maeglin said, hoping that it was explanation enough as he slipped his arms around Celebrimbor, pulling him close to soak up as much of his warmth as he could.

Tyelpe shivered, no doubt a little chilled now that Lómion’s freezing form was drenched around him, but he drifted back asleep promptly enough and Maeglin barely suppressed a sigh of relief. The heat felt amazing, and he couldn’t help nuzzling into Tyelpe a bit more. He kicked off his boots and pushed his cold feet between Tyelpe’s shins. His frozen hands he sneaked under Celebrimbor’s tunic, finding the smooth skin of the feanorian's chest almost scorching to his numbed fingers.

 _‘It’s this or freezing.’_ Lómion reassured himself, trying not to touch the other smith’s skin too much, settling for the warmth underneath the fabric of his shirt. Soon enough he drifted off into sweet slumber.

....

On the next morning Maeglin’s dark eyes first landed on the cheerful sunlight steaming between the wooden beams of the stable's roof. He felt cosy all around, aside from the hand that was hesitantly shaking him awake.

He looked to the side and found Celebrimbor rising from the straw, which surrounded them. His long dark hair was tangled with pale hay streaks and his cloak was hanging askew from one shoulder.

“You are probably wondering what I’m doing here.” Lómion began, cringing at his own words.

“Yes, a little.” Tyelpe shrugged. He looked somewhat cute all confused like that, Maeglin noted.

“You were already asleep when I decided to join you.” He explained, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, he reminded himself - after all, he had a perfectly valid reason. “You seem to be perpetually warm, but I was going to freeze last night, so I thought I could come over. I hope I didn’t intrude too much.”

“No.” Celebrimbor enunciated slowly. “Not at all. I’m glad you chose to come to me instead of freezing.”

“I’m glad you don’t mind.” Maeglin said and forced himself to get out of Tyelpe’s toasty vicinity and stretch his long limbs. “We should go see if the others can still be called elves, or if they have turned into icicles.”

Still clothed from the previous night, the two of them got out of the straw with little fuss. There was nothing much to collect from their belongings - they had slept with everything on.

Silently, the two smiths passed between the sleeping travellers to find the two other elves of their company. Silvanel and Helaeth were still asleep, lying tightly intertwined with three other ellons underneath a large heap of hay, cloaks and blankets.

“You see-” Lómion pointed at them. “This is how cold it was last night!”

“I believed you the first time you said it.” Celebrimbor glanced at him over his shoulder and Maeglin felt like kicking himself. That had come out all wrong.

“I just didn’t want you to think that…” Maeglin trailed off, desperately searching for something to finish the sentiment with. He was aware that he sounded more defensive with every explanation he tried to offer. “Didn’t want you to think that, I’m taking advantage, or something… You know what I mean.”

Tyelperinquar bursted laughing, covering his mouth with a hand to stop the sounds from jolting the others awake. Lómion wasn’t certain what exactly the other smith found so funny. Hopefully not him.

“It’s been a millennium since anyone has tried to take advantage of me.” Tyelpe said with a wink. “I’d have more reason to be flattered than offended, if you took interest in me.”

Maeglin frowned deeply, trying to figure out what Celebrimbor meant by that. It sounded like a joke, a self-reprimanding and bitter one, but at the same time, it rang too sincere to be a jest.

“Don’t get too excited.” He deadpanned in return, trying to alleviate whatever strange tension had suddenly fallen between them. “My inclinations lie elsewhere.”

“So I figured.” Celebrimbor shrugged and turned his intentions to the sleeping elves. “Let them rest. We should grab some tea and early breakfast - I am famished.”

“So am I.” Maeglin agreed, glad for the change of topic and followed Celebrimbor to the inn.  
…

The sun coming out brought up the temperatures considerably and much of the night’s snow melted, allowing their wagon to depart at noon on the same day.

They reached the next inn, which Turgon had picked for them and once again Lómion got to sleep in his own warm room with a hearth and a steaming tub waiting for him. There was a nice soft bed, which he could have all to himself. But strangely, the elegant chamber felt strangely empty on his own.

He changed into clean sleeping clothes and got under the thick blankets of the bed. The sheets felt crisp but cold, and Maeglin found his thoughts unwittingly returning to the previous night over and over again. No matter how much he tried not to think of it, the feel of holding another body in his arms haunted him. He had never known that it could feel so nice to share a bed with someone. Tyelpe’s skin had felt so warm and the scent of his hair had been quite pleasant, perhaps even a little enticing. Lómion had deliberately not allowed himself to touch or feel too much, but his mind was bringing back each tiny impression that it had managed to snatch.

 _'This is ridiculous.'_ Maeglin thought to himself, shifting amongst the sheets, trying to find a position in which he wouldn’t get any more of those thoughts. Apparently such a pose didn’t exist, because he kept remembering, no matter how he tossed and turned.

_The sound of Tyelpe's soft breathing..._

_'It must be normal to enjoy intimacy, even if it’s only with a friend.'_ He reassured himself and then proceeded to mentally berate himself for lacking experience in pretty much every aspect of social life. If only he had made more friends, had loved more than just one, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so awkward at the smallest thing.

In the end, he drifted to sleep wondering how Tyelpe had found them upon waking. Had he awoken in Lómion’s arms, or vice versa, or had they simply slept curled up and facing each other. As he let dreams take him, Maeglin imagined Tyelpe’s arms around him. It was a pleasant thought to fall asleep to, even if it was a completely unobtainable one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Inkstranger’s headcanon about Feanorians having a warmer body temperature than the rest of the elves and I shamelessly borrowed it in this fic for the second time! So, here is cudos to her, and you can check out her Tumblr here: http://inkstranger.tumblr.com/  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celebrimbor and Maeglin spend a few days in Tirion.

It had been six hundred years since the last time Celebrimbor set foot in Tirion. If the immortal city had changed, the elven smith could hardly tell. Compared to Middle Earth, time passed strangely in Valinor. Sometimes an hour seemed to drag endlessly giving the impression of time stopping all together. Other times, decades and centuries blurred together, passing fleetingly like the currents of a swiftly running stream. And little ever seemed to change in the Blessed Realm.

They arrived three days to Yule and the seasonal festivities were well upon the city. Decorations and uplifted moods showed that Tirion was bracing for mid-winter celebrations.

The wagon took them through the city’s busy streets, rising to the upper circle where Fingolfin’s line resided. They drove through a large garden, stopping at the square in front of Turgon’s mansion. News of their arrival had already reached Maeglin’s family and a small procession awaited at the main entryway stairs.

Silvanel opened the door for them and Lómion hopped out first, greeted immediately by his mother, who pulled him into a tight embrace without any semblance of formality.

Tyelperinquar followed after him, smiling courteously to Turgon. He then turned his attention to the golden-haired nis, who stood a little to the side, next to possibly the tallest mortal-born man the feanorian smith had ever seen. Tuor was almost of height with Turgon, even though the Lord of late-Gondolin was the second tallest elf to ever be born.

Aredhel released Maeglin from her long embrace and immediately rounded on Tyelpe, who tensed despite his best effort. It was strange how much Írissë’s attitude towards him had changed over the brief course of almost a year. She had went from death threats to sending him gifts and well wishes in the letters she wrote to her son. At present, she received him with a gesture that was more familial than polite, clasping his shoulders and holding him still for a long moment as her eyes surveyed his face affectionately.

“Tyelperinquar.” She enunciated his name with delight. “I am so grateful that you convinced him to come!”

“Lady Aredhel,” Celebrimbor said with a respectful nod, since her grasp on him didn’t allow for a more stately bow. “You overestimate my reach on your son.”

“Nonsense! I know this is your doing, and don’t think for a second that I would forget the favour!” She said and with a fond grin released him.

Tyelpe turned his attention to Turgon just in time to see Maeglin bowing to his uncle and turning to face Idril and her husband.

“Kinsman!” Turgon greeted him with a formal gesture, but no less enthusiasm in his voice than his sister’s. “Welcome to Tirion and my house! I hope you will have a good time here.”

“Please accept my gratitude for your invitation, my Lord.” Celebrimbor returned the gesture with a slightly lower bow than the one Turgon had given him. “I am honoured to be a guest in your home.”

Turgon stepped closer to him, smiling as he continued speaking pleasant words of welcome, but while Tyelperinquar responded in kind, his eyes and mind involuntarily kept darting back to Lómion, who was currently greeting Idril. Greeting her feet, to be more accurate - the pale elf had doubled over in a bow before her.

Idril stood three steps above him on the staircase, arm intertwined with her husband’s, as if in fear of being snatched away. Celebrimbor couldn’t hear their words, because he was half-listening to Turgon, but from the angle he was in, he could see the frown of agony on Maeglin’s face, hidden from view to most by the fall of his black hair.

While Tyelpe had known that the encounter would be awkward and not in the least bit pleasant for either party involved, he hadn’t expected his own gut to give such a painful lurch at the sight of Lómion’s misery.

“... but let me introduce you to my daughter-” Turgon offered and Celebrimbor’s attention snapped back to the moment. Forcing his smile to a full-on grin and nodding eagerly in response, he followed Turgon up the steps towards his daughter.

Sensing their approach, Maeglin took the opportunity to make his escape and slid back like a shadow, silent and literally unnoticeable, if Celebrimbor’s entire attention hadn’t already been on him.

Turgon introduced his fair daughter, but Tyelpe’s mind raced with thoughts other than her beatific visage and the slight cringe of suspicion in her smile, which she couldn’t hide.

For the first time Celebrimbor realised just how at odds Maeglin was with the rest of them. Somehow, by living alone with Lómion, Tyelperinquar had almost forgotten just how striking the other ellon’s milky skin was, how stark his black eyes against it, how unreadable and threatening they could turn. How quietly he moved, how quickly he could appear and disappear, how strange and wild and different he could be.

All of those qualities Celebrimbor had gotten used to, even begun to find endearing. He liked the way Lómion’s eyes sparkled and refracted bright light, like a pair of polished gemstones. He delighted in his sharpness and piercing intelligence. The abruptness of his movements never failed to send little shivers of thrill up Tyelpe’s spine. Maeglin was just so interesting and he managed to keep up and challenge the feanorian all the time.

But placed next to his Noldorin relatives, and especially compared to his golden cousin and her mortal, Maeglin cringed away like a shadow running from the sun. He lacked the confidence to stand up to them and be himself. For all intents and purposes he seemed to expect to be hated and his inability to show pride caused others’ distress and suspicion. All of that was without his past actions being taken into account. If one was to remember Maeglin’s betrayal at the end of his previous life… well, Celebrimbor could see why his friend had been so reluctant to go back to Tirion.

“It’s an utmost pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Idril Celebrindal and noble Tuor son of Huor.” Tyelperinquar bowed to each of them.

“It’s our pleasure to meet you, kinsman.” Tuor spoke, Idril remaining silent and seeking refuge behind her husband’s broad frame.

It was clear she didn’t trust him, which meant that she did not trust Maeglin. Perhaps she hadn’t truly forgiven the other smith either. For once, Lómion’s paranoia might not have been entirely unfounded, Celebrimbor thought.

Tyelperinquar stepped away, giving them air. He had become an expert at telling when his presence was not appreciated and knew not to impose himself more than was strictly necessary.

Turgon’s smile was a little strained when he turned back to Lómion.

“We have been awaiting your presence for lunch, but if you are too weary, you could go refresh in your chambers before joining us for tea later.” He said.

Tyelpe glanced over his shoulder to see Lómion standing beside the wagon’s cabin door, as if he was contemplating jumping in and taking the return journey to their cottage.

“We will join you for tea if that is acceptable, my Lord.” Maeglin said, his voice quiet and flat. He looked up from the ground just to hold Turgon’s eyes for a moment before his uncle accented.

Celebrimbor’s stomach rumbled in protest, but he said nothing as the attendants took him and Lómion to their chambers.

…

Tyelpe was given a large suit in conjunction with Maeglin’s own. They each had a sitting room, bedroom and balcony all to themselves, but shared a bathroom between their units.

He wasn’t in a guest chamber, Celebrimbor wondered privately - it was a unit meant for a permanent resident or a family member. He made note to ask Lómion if someone had previously resided there but had been evicted because of Tyelpe’s visit.

A part of him knew full well that no one had lived in those chambers before. If anything, they might have been meant for Maeglin’s hypothetical spouse.

  
The knowledge was a bit awkward, but at the same time it sent a little tingle of something pleasant in his gut. He had never been treated as an intended by anyone’s family, and even if that was not really the case, it was not hard to imagine it for a moment.

How nice it could have been if he was indeed Maeglin’s betrothed. With Tyelperinquar’s entire father-line still in Mandos, and possibly never to be released until Arda remade, and the rest of his family estranged, being around Írissë and Turgon made him feel good. Not to mention Lómion himself -...

However, these kind of thoughts were dangerous. The last thing he needed was to start hoping for something to happen between Lómion and him. The other elf was making it quite clear that he wasn’t interested.

Not that Celebrimbor hadn’t tried testing the water a couple of times. Unfortunately, most of his attempts went completely over Maeglin’s head and the rest were met either uncomprehendingly or with mild reprimand, when Lómion actually did catch on to Celebrimbor’s meaning, which was very seldom.

And that was where Tyelpe drew the line - he wasn’t going to get himself hurt again.

Regardless of these bleak reflections, Celebrimbor got cleansed and changed quickly, his enthusiasm to be downstairs with the rest, making his movements fast and energetic. He was fully ready for tea in less than half an hour.

Lómion, on the other hand, was only then starting to get ready. A knock on the door to their shared bathing chamber announced his presence.

“Ugh?!” Lómion looked slightly startled when Tyelperinquar opened the door from the inside.

“What’s happening?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be taking a bath.” Maeglin said, looking away cagily. “Don’t come in.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Celebrimbor chided. “I know enough to knock before entering.”

“Good.” Lómion nodded, glancing up at his eyes very briefly before taking the knob and pulling the door closed between them.

…

Three hours later an attendant knocked on his door and Tyelpe sprang up from the windowsill from which he had observed the city. He smoothed his formal robes and quickly ran a comb through his hair for the last time before stepping out of his chambers.

Maeglin took a bit longer to do the same, leaving Celebrimbor and the attendant waiting awkwardly by his door. When the dark-eyed elf finally emerged, he wore the same dark clothes he had sported earlier, and an even more sullen expression.

The attendant hurried to lead the way, walking before the two dark-haired Noldor elves, not turning back even for a glance to check if they followed.

Celebrimbor aligned with Lómion, who hadn’t acknowledged him in any way thus far. He put his hand on Maeglin’s shoulder silently, startling his friend, who looked up at him sharply.

 _Are you alright?_ Tyelpe tried to convey his concern as best as he could with his eyes. He wasn’t more talented at osanwe than a common elf, but his meaning seemed to register in Maeglin’s answering gaze, because those black eyes softened and he nodded.

As they started down the rounded staircase to the first floor, Lómion’s hand clasped Tyelpe’s arm suddenly, squeezing a bit tighter than comfortable. Celebrimbor answered it with a touch to the elbow, reassuring his friend of his presence.

 _Please, don’t leave me alone._ Maeglin’s eyes seemed to say when he looked at Tyelperinquar for a long moment just before they entered the solar, where Turgon’s family awaited them for tea.

…

The remaining three days to Yule passed swiftly, even if they were full of stiffness where Maeglin was concerned. During that brief period, Aredhel took them to the market in Tirion.

“You must need so many things!” She had insisted.

Celebrimbor had tried to worm out of that one, markets and crowded places not being his usual preference, but Lómion’s pleading looks and Írissë’s persistence made him agree.

Of course, Aredhel was dead-set on buying them each something. Tyelpe was starting to feel as if she had indeed adopted him. It wasn’t such a bad thing, even if her shows of affection kept catching him off guard. Thankfully, he had crafted an exquisite white gold tiara with fiery moonstones to suit her character, which he planned to gift to her for Yule, so he could return the gesture somewhat.

He had crafted gifts for the rest of the family as well - a silver brooch with a large sapphire for Turgon, to match his deep blue eyes; a set of gold earrings with tiny flowers cut from apple-green peridot for Idril, it being her favorite colour, according to Maeglin; and a hunting dagger for Tuor, because it was a fail-safe gift in Noldorin society. Celebrimbor had been commissioned countless gift daggers over the years and he considered his knife-forging skills good enough to impress even this esteemed mortal.

As for Lómion, Tyelpe had deliberated for a very long while what to give him. Longer than he had known that they were going to Tirion for Yule. He had made and scrapped a whole bunch of bracelets, necklaces and earrings - all sorts of variations of silver with black or blue gemstones. He had even tried gold, which he imagined could look exotic and enticing on Lómion’s cool complexion. At odds, yes, but wasn’t Maeglin himself a large collection of contradictions…

In the end, almost by accident Tyelperinquar had managed to procure a rare black opal, a stone that looked almost opaque from afar, but examined from up close, it unfolded a breathtaking display of aural flashes and kaleidoscopic colours. It reminded him of Lómion in too many ways to pass it by, so he had trashed his savings on buying it.

He had worked on a setting for a while, trying to create the perfect mold for it, and once he had finished the design, he had cast a white gold ring. Of course, he had studiously avoided silver - silver bands were given between spouses, and he didn’t want to drop any unintended hints. The gift wasn’t meant to have such a meaning. It was just something that he wanted to give to his friend.

The finished ring was quite spectacular and Tyelpe couldn’t wait to Yule to present it to Maeglin. He needed to find a way to tell him about how the stone was reminiscent of him, but in a way that wouldn’t seem like a misguided love confession. It was meant to boost Lómion’s self-confidence and possibly make him recognise and appreciate his own good qualities.

Aredhel’s gift for Tyelperinquar were once again new clothes. After a long survey of the market, Maeglin’s mother took them to her tailor and commissioned them robes worthy of princes.

“Will they be ready for Yule?” She asked the head seamstress.

“For you, my Lady, they will be.” The tailor smiled.

Celebrimbor didn’t miss the way some of her young apprentices stole glances at Lómion when the other elf wasn’t looking. Those weren’t looks of fear or disgust, but appreciative, shy glances. Most likely those nissies didn’t know whom they were dealing with, or they were too young and carefree to care. Maeglin was attractive enough to make even those, who frowned to his face, look him up and down as soon as he turned his shrewd gaze away.

One of the nissies who took Celebrimbor’s measurements looked up at his face from where she measured his wrists.

“Such fine hands, my Lord. You must be a musician.” She said and when he met her eyes she blushed promptly. “I mean - I have taken many measurements -and - I mean-”

“I’m actually a smith.” He smiled in return, feeling a little heat rise to his own cheeks at her attention. Promptly he looked away and found Lómion’s eyes on him. The other elf was observing the exchange with his hands on his hips. His dark eyes rolled in what looked like exasperation.

The other elleth, who was taking his back measurements nudged the poor girl away.

“Write down the measurements!” She urged and the flustered nis busied herself with jotting down notes on a piece of paper in the corner.

As soon as they walked out of the shop, Maeglin bumped his shoulder into Celebrimbor’s.

“Look at you picking up elleths left and right.” He muttered so that Aredhel wouldn’t overhear. “Perhaps Turgon was right about Tirion.”

“Look who’s talking -” Tyelpe objected. “You didn’t see how they were looking at you!”

“At me?” Lómion squinted suspiciously. “Regardless, they don’t know who were are. And even if they are naive enough not to care, wait until their fathers find out about it.”

“What are you two whispering?” Aredhel looked over her shoulder as she lead the way through the busy streets.

“Nothing!” Tyelperinquar and Lómion chorused.

…

Later, a floor attendant came to summon Celebrimbor to Turgon. To his surprise, his kinsman was awaiting him outside the mansion beside an open, four-seater wagon.

“I’d like to show you something.” Turgon said and nodded for Tyelpe to get into the carriage.

The ride was a short one, it took them to the main artisan square where they stopped in front of an impressive four-storey building. Its lower floor looked like the display of a shop, except that it was completely empty.

“What do you think?” Turgon asked, their wagon stopping directly in front of the building.

“Is this building new?” Celebrimbor asked, a little apprehensive.

“No, it’s a very old building. It used to be a library, but as the city grew and this whole neighbourhood filled with craftsmen and their shops, this library slowly begun to lose it’s purpose. So I recently had all the books moved to a more suitable location, and the whole building refurbished for a new purpose.” Turgon said, looking up at his work with pride.

“I made the plans myself.” He added and then gestured for Tyelpe to follow him. “Come, let me show you inside!”

They walked into the white-stone first floor and Turgon spread his arms. The place looked like what could become a spacious shop, with a counter and empty displays cut from solid marble.

“This is my gift to the two of you for Yule.” He said. “I’m sorry I had to break the surprise, but you know how he is. I thought that this had a better chance of succeeding if you were in on it.”

Celebrimbor was too stunned to show much of any reaction, but nod. He didn’t know what surprised him more - the fact that Turgon was giving Maeglin and him a large building in the middle of Tirion, or that he was referring to the two of them as an entity of some sort.

He kept nodding mutely as Turgon lead him around, showing him various aspects of the place, pointing out the works that had been done to it, the improvements he had concocted, and when they went outside into the courtyard, he turned to Tyelperinquar with the words:

“So, with a total of six bedrooms, four forges, eight different workshops and a garden, not to mention the shop downstairs, I think this should be a perfect place for your business at this point.” He said. “I can start making plans for the next building, possibly something in the outskirts, where we can build new things. I’ve been looking at reconstructed plans of Ost-in-Edhil to visualise the kind of organisation you might prefer-”

“Kinsman-” Celebrimbor finally gathered the courage to speak, “cousin, Turgon- I am beyond moved by your grand and thoughtful gift! But I need to speak to you, because I’m afraid there has been a big misunderstanding!”

“Misunderstanding?” Turgon frowned. “How?”

“Maeglin and I -” Tyelpe struggled, too overwhelmed by Turgon’s generosity, and hating to let him down with his next words- “I am not his husband. We are just friends.”

“Well, surely that would change.” Turgon grinned. “I noticed it about you the first time we spoke. And now that I’ve seen you together, I can see it in him too. Whatever barriers are still between you, I know that you will overcome them.”

Celebrimbor shook his head helplessly.

“He is not in love with me!” He insisted.

“Don’t give me that!” Turgon objected. “He doesn’t take his eyes off you, and he’s always beside you. I’ve never seen him stand this close to anyone else but you.”

 _He’s staring at me, because he’s trying so hard to avoid noticing his surroundings while he’s here._ Tyelpe thought, but wasn’t cruel enough to say outloud. _He’s hiding beside me, because he feels like he’s surrounded by thorns and teeth, which would tear him apart the moment he loses grip of me. You are just reading whatever you want to see into it._

“That’s because he’s never had a friend before.” Celebrimbor said instead. “We understand each other and we are close, but I’m not his intended. I am sorry.”

“So you are rejecting my gift.” Turgon’s face fell. He was really a very tall elf, standing a full head over Tyelperinquar, but he somehow managed to look small and vulnerable in that moment.

“Not at all! If Maeglin accepts the mansion and wishes to move here, I will stay and work alongside him.” Tyelpe hurried to explain. “I just wanted you to know the truth before you gave this mansion to the two of us. It should be his only, and I can be his guest.”

Turgon nodded, but he still looked very disappointed to Celebrimbor’s dismay.

“In that case, I might not have a gift for you this Yule, cousin.” He said, looking bitter.

“Please don’t worry about that!” Tyelperinquar laughed disbelievingly. “I didn’t come here expecting gifts. Your invitation and patronage for my stay in Tirion is the best gift you could have given me.”

“If that is so, may I ask you one question, to which I’d like you to give me a straight answer.” Turgon turned serious. “Are you, or are you not in love with my nephew?”

Celebrimbor bit his lip.

“No.” He answered.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to.” Turgon frowned deeply.

“I didn’t lie, but if you doubt me, here is my full answer - and I warn you, what I’m about to say might not be very comfortable to hear, since it’s deeply personal -” Celebrimbor drew a deep breath bracing himself for what he was about to say. “I risked, and I loved in the past, only to have my heart trampled over in the most brutal way. In the end, it wasn’t just my heart that shattered as a result of false love. I will never again allow myself to fall in love with someone who doesn’t love me in return.”

Turgon’s lips pressed together so hard, that the blood fled from them. He looked pale as Tyelperinquar’s meaning washed over him. In the end he nodded.

“Thank you for the honesty.” He said. “All I wanted was to give you words of encouragement for pursuing my nephew, because I truly believe he is affected by you, whether he realises it or not. But now that I’ve heard what’s on your mind, I realise that it would be cruel and selfish of me to suggested it. I love Maeglin and I want to see him happy, but I care about you too, Celebrimbor.”

Tyelpe looked away, his heart raw with too many conflicting emotions.

“Thank you, cousin.” He said once he summoned the strength to speak calmly.

“I think this place is perfect.” He added, looking at Turgon sincerely. “I will try to convince Maeglin to take it.”

“You have my gratitude.” Turgon nodded.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter and I apologise for the excessive angst!!!  
> Next chapter - Yule!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's Yule and some uncomfortable questions are answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! Here is my treat for you!

For the Elves in Valinor, Yule lasted two nights, starting at sunset on the first and finishing at sunrise on the second. It was a holiday that marked the end of the old year and the beginning of the new, with countless celebrations, feasts and traditions being observed over the course of the two-day festival.

The first Yulenight was usually reserved for family celebrations and spent at home, while the second was for parties held in the rich city halls by the Lords, and extending to the streets, parks, and even beyond - into the hills, forests and beaches of Eldamar.

A few hours before the start of the holiday, Tyelpe received a package. It was large and soft, wrapped in red paper, with a golden bow holding it all together. Raising his eyebrows and thanking the floor attendant who had brought it, Celebrimbor accepted the gift, which he guessed rightly was from Aredhel.

Knowing that nothing would please Írissë more than wearing the robes, which she had commissioned for him, Tyelperinquar carefully unwrapped the princely attire, taking a moment to appreciate the fine material and glorious detail of the embroidery. It was a deep blue colour, threaded with silver and gold, depicting the two trees and a countless amount of stars. A little bit too much for his current taste, but Celebrimbor supposed he needed to get used to looking the part of Noldor aristocracy if he wanted to rejoin society.

Tyelperinquar dressed and braided his hair, sat for a while and waited, but time until dinner seemed to drag and finally with little else to do, knocked on Maeglin’s door.

“Come in.” Came the icy response, but when Tyelpe opened the door and Lómion saw his face, the nér’s features and voice immediately softened and he greeted warmly: “Hey.”

“Aaye.” He greeted in return and let himself in.

Maeglin’s chambers were very similar to his own, and they looked… well, as if Lómion had never truly settled into them. There were no possessions or personal effects that Tyelpe could see. The rooms were pleasant, but sterile.

“What’s happening?” Lómion turned to look at him from the windowsill.

“I’m ready. What about you?” Celebrimbor asked, taking a few tentative steps into Maeglin’s chambers.

“I am ready as well.” Lómion sighed, gesturing to his new garb tiredly. It was a charcoal grey, Aredhel didn’t like seeing her son wearing pure black, so they had come to a compromise. The embroidery was done in black, threading tiny faceted onyxes, and giving a slight sparkle to the otherwise unassuming attire. Tyelperinquar’s eyes tried to distinguish an image, but it seemed that the embroidery was done in nothing more than oddly geometrical patterns, which had little meaning that he could gleam.

“You look nice.” He said and Maeglin rolled his eyes with a shrug.

“You look good as well.” Lómion responded and Tyelpe tried not to preen at the compliment.

“We could go downstairs.” Maeglin offered, reluctantly getting up. “It’s almost sunset anyway.”

Celebrimbor risked a glance at the elaborate sway of Lómion's multilayered regalia as it slipped down the ellon’s rising frame and draped around him while he walked.

“Aredhel’s taylor truly deserves the praise she gets.” Tyelpe said as a way of excuse for staring. Maeglin’s eyes lowered on him in return, taking in Celebrimbor’s new robes. He paused and scrutinised what he saw, making Tyelpe feel just a little bit uneasy. In the end Lómion merely nodded and smirked to himself as he passed by him on his way to the door.

Celebrimbor wasn’t certain what that smile meant, but he didn’t dare ask. He followed his friend thinking that Lómion looked too well clad in such a fine, lively material. It followed every movement of his long limbs, adding a layer of sensuality to every motion and accenting each angle of his elegant body. Tyelpe wondered what he'd look like once he was dancing. Utterly mesmerizing, he supposed.

... 

Downstairs the table was already set but Maeglin’s relatives were standing in the hallway, chatting and laughing amiably amongst each other. A few newcomers had arrived during the day, Turgon’s wife Elenwë, of whom Celebrimbor knew but hadn’t personally met. There was also a blonde man standing by a dark-haired nis and speaking loudly with Tuor and Idril. With a pang of guilt, Tyelpe realised that they were Eärendil and Elwing, the latter having personally suffered at the hands of his uncles, driven to suicide by their actions.

Despite having no involvement in the Third Kinslaying, Tyelperinquar felt shame weigh down on him at the sight of her. Standing next to him, Maeglin wasn’t doing any better, having went still and incredibly quiet at the sight of Idril’s son.

Realising that they were skulking at the doorframe, unannounced and thankfully still unnoticed, Celebrimbor hurried to straighten his broad shoulders and plaster a smile on his face, put a hand on Lómion’s back and gently nudged him inside.

It wouldn’t do to seem creepy and sullen, as well as guilty, Tyelpe thought.

Aredhel noticed them first and hurried to her son’s other side.

“Elenwë, meet your nephew, my son, Maeglin Lomion!” She said, beaming at her sister-in-law.

Everyone in the hall turned and for a moment the tension was almost too much to bear. Thankfully, Turgon’s wife smiled kindly and walked over to greet Maeglin, whose back felt as tight as a bowstring under Celebrimbor’s reassuring hand. Meanwhile, Tyelpe was forcing himself to meet Elwing’s eyes, whose attention had turned to him, as had Eärendil’s.

Bracing himself mentally, he went to greet the Half-elven family, bowing before them and offering formal introductions.

“You look like them,” were Elwing’s first words to him, which felt like a slap to the face.

“Mother and Father said that you’d be here.” Eärendil hurried to add with a bright disposition, similar to that of Tuor.

Celebrimbor’s eyes darted between the four of them, trying to find the least hostile gaze to hold, and ending up bowing his head slightly, a submissive gesture, which would have earned him a proper scolding by Curufin.

“I would like to take this opportunity to offer my sincerest apologies for the deeds of my kin against you and your people, Lady Elwing.” He said forcing his eyes to her once more, willing to show her that he meant his words. “Attacking your city and slaying kin are unforgivable crimes and I would understand if you want little to do with me.”

“I’ve heard that you knew my sons.” Elwing responded after a long, thoughtful pause.

“Yes, that is true.” Celebrimbor answered, grasping at the opportunity. “And if it would ease your mind at all, I can testify that Elrond and Elros were well raised by those who kidnapped them, and later well loved amongst Cirdan’s and Gil Galad’s people.”

“Yes, I have been told of the unlikely love, which Maglor had for Elrond and Elros, and that Elrond went on to become Ereinion’s herald.” Elwing said. “However, I also heard that you were a personal friend of Elrond and I suppose that means that you knew him better than most.”

“That is true. Elrond held no bitterness towards my uncles and made it a point to consider me family. He was a true friend to me until the end, one whose advice I regret not having headed more.” Tyelperinquar admitted, tension easing out of him. It felt like once again the young half-elf was there for him, helping him even without actually being present.

“My wife, you must ask Celebrimbor all you can about our sons, and retell his stories to me later.” Eärendil interrupted. “But now I need to hurry, because Yule or not, the evening star needs to rise!”

He turned to Tyelpe next.

“Let this meeting be a good one, Feanorian, and let not the mistakes of the past darken our new hour!” Eärendil smiled and Tyelpe nodded. 

After brief apologies and goodbyes, Eärendil hurried towards the door, stopping only to greet Maeglin in passing before dashing off. Lómion looked almost offended by the lack of bitterness and scorn on the half-elf’s face. It was funny, in a strangely sad but endearing way.

…

The first night of Yule went quietly after that. Lómion and Tyelpe sat side by side on the long table full of Turgon’s closest family and dearest friends. Despite Ewing's offer for conversation, they were seated quite far apart and Celebrimbor didn’t manage to get another opportunity to converse with her that night.

Once all the meals had finished and copious amounts of wine had been drained, there was a brief break for digestion, during which everyone retired to their rooms, awaiting the next day and the gift-exchanging tradition in the morning.

It was early afternoon when the family sojourned on the first floor again. There was no obligation to give gifts first thing in the day, so Tyelpe decided to wait for a more private moment to offer Lómion his ring, but he got the opportunity to distribute the rest of his presents.

It gladdened the smith greatly to have Maeglin’s family graciously receive his gifts. Aredhel loved her moonstone tiara and praised him on its fine craftsmanship until he was red with embarrassment. Turgon immediately placed the sapphire brooch on his cloak and gave Celebrimbor a hug and a conspiratory look as he reminded him about their agreement to take Lómion to the reconstructed library on the next morning.

Tuor was also very courteous in accepting his hunting dagger. He took the time to look at it properly and gave Tyelperinquar a smile and an amiable clap on the shoulder.

“This is a fine gift, master Celebrimbor.” The mortal seemed to be warming up to him, which was strange to the elf, who expected years of suspicion until the bad blood between them ran out. “I am sorry that we have no gift in exchange for you this year, since your visit was quite a surprise for us. Next year we will remedy that.”

Celebrindal accepted her peridot earrings with some wariness, as if she expected it to be some kind of a malicious trick. But upon looking at them for a long moment she thanked him and issued him the biggest praise of all by taking off the earrings she wore and replacing them with the ones the jewelsmith had just given her.

“She is not as tough as the face she presents to others.” Maeglin told him later, when the second night of Yule had begun with raucous feasts and merrymaking in the city hall of Tirion.

The entire population had gathered and the massive atrium was overflowing with elves, bursting with chatter and songs. The hour was late and inside the feasting tables were mostly vacated, pushed to the side to make room for dance and performance. The two dark-haired smiths stood on a narrow balustrade on the side, breathing in the crisp night air and nursing goblets of mulled wine. Snow had begun to fall during the afternoon, and it had covered the tops of the buildings and the branches of the evergreen trees. It was still gently snowing as they watched, making the Yule atmosphere complete.

“Idril’s heart is gentle and fragile, and she has been hurt more than anyone else by what I did.” Lómion continued. “She finds blame in herself for the fall of Gondolin. She believes she is the cause, and the sight of me only reawakens these nightmares within her. Don’t blame her for being so suspicious of you - it’s my fault - she only knows you as my friend.”

Celebrimbor nodded, taking a sip of his sweet, spicy drink.

“You still think a lot about her, don’t you?” He asked softly.

“Not a lot!” Maeglin objected. “Not nearly as much as I thought of her before.”

He looked at Celebrimbor with an unreadable expression.

“I know there is nothing left for me here, Tyelpe. No love, no affection, not even forgiveness. I have no delusions about a future with her.” Lómion lowered his gaze to the railing on which they leaned. “And I believe in Nienna’s advice - I must find someone else to love, otherwise my heart would never heal. If I don’t... then I would rather go back to the Halls for all eternity.”

“Don’t say that!” Celebrimbor protested. “You can’t give up on life! There is so much for you out here, whether you find new love or not - it’s not worth giving up on the world-”

“I’m not going to leave you, Tyelpe.” Maeglin chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “I was merely speculating. I wouldn’t leave you alone just like that, you have my promise.”

Celebrimbor looked away. He didn’t like the casual way the other elf spoke about his own death. As if Lómion didn’t think his life mattered to anyone. As if he wouldn’t leave a massive hole in the middle of Tyelpe’s chest if he chose to fade-

“And besides, I’m certain that we will find some nissies desperate enough to be with us before the end-” Maeglin continued, waving his hand in the air flippantly. “Or at least you will - I don’t see why not. I will stay with you, at least until some nis -” He paused, met Celebrimbor’s eyes and corrected himself “-or nér, or whoever you are interested in, comes along. And then I will see what I’ll do.”

“It’s funny how you say desperate enough. Do you think we are that ineligible?” Tyelperinquar chuckled. 

“You’re not that bad, but I-” Lómion trailed of.

“I’m second hand - you have better chances than me, at least you’ve never been married.” Celebrimbor disagreed.

“If no one wants us, I will take you and we can be miserable together.” Maeglin joked with mock dejection.

At the mention of Lómion proposing to him Tyelpe’s heart nearly jumped out of its cage.

“I wouldn’t mind being miserable with you.” He said.

Maeglin laughed. Celebrimbor felt something twist in his stomach, but managed to hide it well.

“Me too - and that’s the problem. Misery is all I deserve. It wouldn’t do for me to enjoy it.” Lómion said with finality.

“So, would you really consider a nér as well as a nis?” Tyelpe saw the opportunity to ask the question, which had been on his mind for a while.

“Well...” Maeglin begun, a serious expression on his face. “I don’t know. I have only ever been interested in nissies. Well, in Idril, in particular. Only her. So, I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“When I was very young, I thought I was in love with a nis.” Celebrimbor begun after another long sip of mulled wine. Lómion turned a curious look to him. “You might have heard the legends about my unrequited love for Galadriel. There is some truth in them, because I was very infatuated with her at the age of thirty and I couldn’t wait to reach my majority to propose to her. As soon as I turned fifty I did and she rejected me, but although it hurt it passed after some time. However, people kept talking about it all the way to the Second Age and even in Eregion. It wasn’t very flattering, but then, surprisingly, it ended up providing a good cover for my affair with Ann...Sauron.”

“Your relationship was a secret?” Maeglin asked, eyebrows rising in interest.

“For a while. He wasn’t very popular with some of the Elven lords and ladies - Galadriel and Celeborn least of all. Gil Galad also disapproved of him, even Elrond. But while everybody read too much into my relationship with Galadriel, thinking that I was still pining after her, it gave me a chance to be with Annatar right under their noses, without anybody noticing the change.”

“They didn’t realise that you got married?” Maeglin sounded disbelieving. “I thought the shift was always obvious, at least for those who know you.”

“I guess they didn’t know me that well. Only Galadriel could not be fooled, but she, to my knowledge, never discussed it with anyone.” Celebrimbor shrugged.

“And how come everybody knows about it now?”

“It became apparent later on, but I can tell you about it another time. These aren’t memories, which I relish, and I’d prefer to focus on the present.” Tyelpe said.

  
“You know, I never took you for the kind to keep secrets.” Lómion wondered aloud, scrutinising him closely. “It’s hard to believe that you could hide something so big.”

“It’s a survival trick I learned long ago.” Tyelperinquar shrugged. “I would never lie to a direct question, but sometimes it’s best not to volunteer uncomfortable truths, when no one is asking.”

“I can’t begrudge you.” Lómion reassured him with a small smile. “I do the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of Halloween and some family stuff I had to split my effort with this chapter in two. I wanted it to be one big thing, but I'm a little overwhelmed right now. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it so far and thank you for the comments on the previous one! Your feedback really keeps me going <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Turgon's patience with Maeglin's antics finally runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of the previous chapter, the second night of Yule...  
> Don't get frightened by the chapter summary - it's not what it sounds like!

Later that night, they had separated for a time. Celebrimbor was wondering the festive halls alone, watching the dancing couples with a vague sense of wistfulness in his chest, and searching for his friend in hopes of convincing him to dance.

He found Maeglin and the scene that unfolded before his eyes was so pitiful that it sent jabs of misery piercing through his gut.

Lómion must have been thinking something along the same lines and had went to Idril to ask the lady for a dance. Turgon’s daughter stood alone, momentarily separated from her husband and looking very distressed even if all Maeglin was offering her was his white hand, extended with the palm turned up, opened and vulnerable in the space between them. His eyes did not dare to look up, as he bowed low before her and awaited an answer.

The rigidness of Lómion’s shoulders and the defensive angle of his posture betrayed that he was expecting a rejection. And he was not wrong - Celebrimbor couldn’t hear the words, which passed between them, but could read it in their expressions - Idril’s frown of anguish and disgust, the way she tried to step away, only to bump into the wall behind her, and Maeglin’s body crumbling down and folding even lower - as if trying to become smaller, make himself disappear. By the opening and closing of Celebrindal’s mouth and the angry tilt of her lips, Tyelpe was certain that whatever she was saying to Lómion, it wasn't merciful.

Lómion looked like he was offering apologies, still bent in a bow and not looking up, but his lips were moving and she traced his retreat with all the elegance and viciousness of a mothering swan watching an offending trespasser backing away from her nest.

With a pang of grief, Tyelperinquar realised that he wasn’t the only one observing the exchange. A whole lot of elves nearby were watching and whispering worriedly, and Tuor suddenly appeared from the crowd, striding with a purposeful and fast gate, his handsome brow furrowed with anger and concern.

Maeglin had already retreated and thankfully Tuor did not pursue him, even though he looked after the dark-haired elf with resentment, as Idril buried her face into his shoulder and no doubt told him of what had transpired in his absence.

Tyelpe bit his lip hard. He felt for Lómion, even if he could see the error in trying to approach Idril, who clearly wasn’t ready to forgive him. Still, it bothered Celebrimbor greatly to see the others looking at Maeglin in that way - as if he was something else, a dangerous animal, a peril in their midst, a wild card. An outsider.

Protectiveness rose in Tyelperinquar’s chest and he strode off to find his friend, determined to prove them all wrong.

He found Lómion in the corner behind the orchestra, hiding amidst the curtains and tapestries that hung from the ceiling - obviously frustrated and upset, with his back turned to the hall.

When he approached, Maeglin whipped around, a cool flame in his eyes, readied to defend himself, but when he saw it was only Celebrimbor, deflated straight away.

“What are you doing here, Tyelpe?” Lómion asked and was unsuccessful in masking the hurt in his voice.

“I was just hoping to ask you to dance with me.” Tyelperinquar smiled, pretending that he hadn’t seen the scene earlier.

“I…” Maeglin stuttered, the rejection becoming trapped in his throat. No doubt thoughts of how he had felt just a few minutes earlier battled with his own baleful mood and unwillingness to be seen in the hall at all, least of all dancing.

Celebrimbor gave him his most hopeful smile.

“I…” Maeglin tried again, looking distraught and then turning his eyes away. He seemed caught between tears and something else, and Celebrimbor took pity on him, toning down his demands in favour of stepping closer to him and putting a comforting hand on his arm.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to.” He said gently and then added with just a hint of playful teasing, “I thought that you’d be happier being seen dancing with someone, rather than sulking by yourself, but I may be wrong.”

“You…” Lómion cut himself off breathlessly and shook his head. “You aren’t wrong. It’s just-”

He looked up at Tyelperinquar with an expression of anguish in his beautiful black eyes.

“Idril just rejected me.” His tone was brittle and Tyelpe nodded, expression turning serious.

“Yes, I saw.” He admitted softly.  

Maeglin’s eyes snapped up to him, suddenly sharp as if understanding what Celebrimbor had been trying to do.

“Very smooth.” He growled but his anger was short lived.

“I was searching for you when I happened upon it.” Tyelperinquar insisted. “I truly was looking for you in hopes of a dance. Only if you want to, of course.”

Lómion exhaled a shaky breath, frowning thoughtfully at his boots. When he looked up his smile was bitter and his tone self-reprimanding at best, but still his eyes sparkled with something like gratitude.

“I’d be crazy to reject someone like you, Tyelpe.” He said. “Of course I’d dance with you.”

Lómion offered his hand and Celebrimbor could hardly hide his triumph as he took it straight away in both of his own, and led Lómion out of the corner and into the colourful lights of the festive hall.

They went to the ballroom, joining the couples there and quickly falling into rhythm with the steps. Elven dances did not change over millennia, only new ones were added, but the classical tunes were still the same, and they had both learned them long ago.

Tyelperinquar found that he didn’t mind the way seemingly half of the crowd’s attention shifted to them, stopping what they were doing to see the two notorious elves dance with each other as if the past was left behind and could no longer touch them at all. The only thing Celebrimbor cared about was the way Lómion’s eyes didn’t stray from his face, anchoring them together in that moment and refusing to acknowledge anything else.

Maeglin wore a slight smile on his fine features and his eyes were soft as he maintained eye contact, just a slight edge of conspiratorial mischief in them, telling Celebrimbor that he knew they had unwittingly become the centre of attention, but refusing to be bothered by the judgement, be it good or bad.

Tyelperinquar momentarily glanced to the high table, where Turgon and Aredhel sat next to each other, observing from afar. They caught his eyes, and surely enough, could barely contain their glee.

Tyelpe huffed and looked away, trying to ignore the not-too-subtle gestures of encouragement that were pantomimed at him. Fighting to suppress a chuckle and a blush, the smith turned his attention to the reflections on the mirror-polished marble of the walls. Amongst the other dancers, he noticed their couple’s silhouette and something about it surprised him.

“You are taller than me!” Celebrimbor exclaimed.

“Well, yes! Eöl was one of the tallest elves ever recorded, almost as tall as my uncle. What do you expect.” Maeglin said, raising an eyebrow.

“Feanor’s line had some very tall elves as well. I thought we were the same height.” Tyelpe laughed.

“You are missing an inch, or so. It’s nothing - almost there.” Lómion grinned, and contrary to his words, tilted his head up to accentuate the difference in their eyeline further.

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Celebrimbor said, his voice involuntarily dropping an octave as privately he thought: _‘As long as I can reach your lips without having to go on my tiptoes, I can’t care less.’_

The unbidden thought of kissing Maeglin sent heat throbbing through him and his cheeks flushed all the way up to his ears. He promptly glanced away.

“Look who lied just now!” Lómion exclaimed. “Seriously, Tyelpe, we are almost the same height. Nothing to get jealous about!”

Celebrimbor laughed nervously. It was both gracious and ridiculous how oblivious someone as sharp as Maeglin could be.

…

They danced for most of the remaining night, both of them enjoying having a partner to share the experience with. After a while the elves of Tirion got bored of staring at them, or simply got used to the idea of their presence, wariness morphing into normalcy as the earth didn’t split apart and nothing caught fire in their wake.

It was almost morning when they finally tired and most other elves were so drunk that they were falling asleep in their seats, beneath tables, outside or while being dragged away by their more sober friends. Turgon and Elenwë had already excused themselves, Idril and Tuor were long gone, and Aredhel came to wish them goodnight before taking her leave as well. Being quite drunk herself, she pulled her son down to plant a maternal kiss on the top of his head and then tried to do the same to Tyelpe, who hurried to kiss her hand and bow before she managed to get a firm hold on him.

After bidding her goodnight, Tyelperinquar and Lómion sat on a bench together, watching the last of the dancers and listening to the songs that still punctured the night. It had been a wonderful celebration, and Celebrimbor felt like his heart had swelled to the point of bursting.

Still, he had yet to give Maeglin the ring, which he had crafted for him, and an unexpected nervousness was trying to prevent him from ever doing so.

Finally gathering the courage, Tyelperinquar broke the amiable silence between them.

“I have something for you.” He said and not daring to look at Lómion’s face, reached into his tunic pocket to retrieve a small velvet box.

“Happy Yule!” He wished and put the box in Maeglin’s hand.

Lómion held his breath as he opened the lid and then let it out with a sharp gasp.

“It reminded me of you.” Celebrimbor heard himself say, suddenly so wary about what Maeglin was going to say or think that his head spun and the words he had prepared got stuck at the tip of his tongue.

“The stone, I mean. It reminds me of you.” He managed and then was silent as he anxiously waited for Maeglin’s reaction.

“You shouldn’t have.” Lómion breathed and Tyelpe dared to look up, finding Maeglin’s expression awed and somewhat sad. “I- oh Valar, I - I only have -”

He looked around as if he had just remembered something. Celebrimbor looked on with agitation as Lómion lowered his face into his hand with frustration or shame.

“I have only something really stupid to give you! Oh, I am so sorry!” Maeglin shook his head, turning pale and Celebrimbor perked up, realising that Lómion wasn’t reacting so distraught to the gift but to something else entirely, and that Maeglin even hinted at having a present for him as well.

Anticipation swelling in his chest, Tyelperinquar put a hand on the other ellon’s arm and shook him a little.

“What are you saying?! If you have something for me, please give it to me!” He coaxed, barely containing his excitement.

“But it’s… Oh I am so sorry, Tyelpe - I didn’t think we’d be giving each other such gifts - I thought-” Lómion kept apologizing.

“Just turn it over now!” Celebrimbor insisted and Maeglin huffed a sigh of resignation, getting up.

“Alright. Wait here.” He said, and walked to the table where they had dined earlier.

Tyelperinquar followed him around the hall with his eyes until Lómion returned with something hidden behind his back.

“Here.” He said, pulling out a crimped, oil-stained paper bag and presenting it to Celebrimbor. The jewelsmith blinked in incomprehension, regardless he reached for the pastry bag and took it into his hands readily.

“You don’t recognise it, do you?” Maeglin asked sitting down close to Tyelpe, the expression in his dark eyes rueful.

Celebrimbor shook his head and unrolled the top, finding it full of freshly made rice cakes.

“That first night, when you took me in-” Lómion began, his words quick and the hand running through his black hair shaky, “- we got completely sloshed in the tavern together, and when we went back, not that I remember it very well, but we ate all of those rice cakes… The ones which you bought - that we argued about... Remember, in the market-”

“Ahhh-” Tyelperinquar started nodding in understanding. Yes, he did remember that. They had argued whether to buy the pastries or not. Maeglin had insisted that he’d never eat them and Celebrimbor had barely convinced him that there was always a need for cakes in a home. They had ended up polishing off the whole bag on the same night during a long, drunken conversation.

“I kept the bag.” Lómion admitted and gestured to the rumpled thing in Celebrimbor’s hands. It was crimped as if it had been neatly folded and stored that way for a while. “And I learned how to make the damned rice cakes, so the ones here are homemade by me…”

His voice trailed off and Tyelpe’s jaw dropped as he caught on to the meaning behind the gift.

“I’m sorry, this was such a stupid idea-” Lómion hid his blushing face into his hands again. “I just wanted to thank you. For everything you have done for me. For being my friend. And I wanted to tell you that I have treasured every second of it.”

Celebrimbor’s response died in his throat, as he was left speechless by the sentiments coming from Maeglin’s lips. His mind spun and the racing thoughts hurled so loudly, and all he managed to say was:

“This is the best gift I have ever received.”

When Lómion looked up at him disbelievingly, Tyelperinquar wrapped an arm around the other nér’s shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss.

He went for the mouth, but in the last moment managed to catch himself and turned his head a fraction, kissing Maeglin on the very corner of his lips.

 _‘Oh Eru!’_ He thought, his heart jumping as he quickly pulled away. Lómion’s expression was thoroughly bewildered and he was blinking rapidly, glazed eyes searching for something on the wall beside them.

 _‘I’m drunk - it could always be written off as a sloppy attempt to kiss his cheek.’_ Tyelperinquar thought and was about to profess so, when Maeglin’s fingers rose to touch the place where Celebrimbor had kissed him and smiled slightly.

In a moment, Maeglin’s smile widened to a grin and he pulled Tyelperinquar with both arms into a firm embrace, crushing the bag of rice cakes between them. Celebrimbor found that he didn’t mind the crunching sounds and the crumbs raining on his new robes while Lómion nuzzled their cheeks together.

“Well, there might be something else for you as well.” He said into Celebrimbor’s ear, making the Feanorian’s breath hitch. Maeglin turned his head to kiss Tyelpe’s cheek before pulling away slightly to meet his eyes. “But you will have to wait until we return to the cottage. My real gift is waiting there.”

“And what may that be?” Celebrimbor asked breathlessly, trembling in the close embrace.

“That’s all I’m going to tell you. I already blew the surprise.” Lómion beamed and pulled the edge of his cloak around Tyelperinquar’s shoulders to warm him.

Celebrimbor blinked rapidly, realising that once again they were not thinking about the same thing. Maeglin wrapping him in his cloak made him realise that he was shaking, and laughing a little, he pulled away.

“I’m not cold.” He admitted.

“You are trembling.” Lómion protested.

“I just got too excited.” He admitted.

Maeglin looked perplexed.

“Don’t think too hard on it.” Celebrimbor shook his head, laughing at himself. He was being so ridiculous. He kind of deserved to get hurt. “Should we go back as well? I think Turgon wants us to get up early tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, his surprise.” Lómion cringed. “Do you have any idea what he is up to?”

“Maybe.” Tyelpe suggested evasively.

“What? He told you, but hasn’t told me!?” Maeglin sounded outraged.

“Yes and I promised not to give his surprise away. You will have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”

…

The next day Maeglin, Celebrimbor and Turgon were standing inside the refurbished building in the middle of the craftsmen’s circle in downtown Tirion. Lómion’s jaw was hanging and it was safe to assume that he didn’t know what to do with the substantial gift, which he had just received.

“And what do you suppose I should do with this?” The dark-eyed elf enunciated bluntly as one in shock.

“We could turn it into a shop.” Tyelpe supplied helpfully, earning a grateful nod from Turukáno, who was standing behind his nephew and out of Lómion’s direct line of sight.

“A shop?” Maeglin shook his head disbelievingly. “And sell what?!”

“Jewelry, metalwork?” Tyelpe suggested.

“What could we possibly offer that Tirion doesn’t have enough of?” Lómion disagreed, sounding desperate and a little bit scared. He was panicking, Celebrimbor surmised. “This would be a total disaster - no one is going to step into a shop with owners like us!”

“I disagree. The wedding bands I saw at Tyelperinquar’s cottage would definitely sell.” Turgon reasoned, stepping into Maeglin’s range. His nephew turned to glare at him. “I have never seen anything quite like those enchanted rings and I’m certain that before long they would be the new fad. Any bride would want to have a ring, which glows like Laurelin!”

“And I’m certain that we can come up with even more ideas.” Celebrimbor added, applications ticking in his head. “We could make rings that capture starlight and glow whenever certain words are being said, or warm-up every time a spouse says the name or their other half…”

“And what is this going to be?” Maeglin burst. “Some kind of weddings shop!? It’s kind of ironic that two bachelors such as Tyelpe and I, clearly looking to find spouses ourselves, would be making bands for other people’s weddings, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s quite fitting.” Tyelperinquar suggested. “We can claim to be pouring all our romantic hopes into the creation of these rings, imbuing them with a kind of lonesome energy that would sway anyone to immediately agree to a wedding proposal.”

“Is that even ethical?” Lómion crossed his arms over his chest.

“We won’t actually do that!” Tyelpe scolded. “I was only joking about that part.”

“The hopeful bachelors’ wedding bands shop.” Maeglin rolled his eyes. “It sounds so depressing.”

“Actually, I think that it has a nice ring to it.” Turgon commented.

“I like it.” Celebrimbor agreed. “That could be the name of the shop. Besides, what better way to announce that we’re single than a massive sign at our door? Not all who look at wedding jewelry are already betrothed - some lonely souls might come just to gaze and sigh at our wedding bands, and that gives us a fair chance to try to enchant them while they are here.”

“Like, they come in and we try to seduce them?” Maeglin was frowning deeply, but there was a tentative note to his voice, as if he was considering it.

“Well, we introduce ourselves, find out what they are after, and if there seems to be a connection, maybe ask to see them again or something?” Tyelpe supposed and Turgon sighed loudly.

  
“I guess that could be another benefit of the whole thing. If you are _still_ looking, that is.” Turukáno stressed, eyes lingering on Lómion meaningfully.

“Is there a problem?” Maeglin bore his gaze with a glare of his own. 

“No, of course not.” Turgon said and Celebrimbor was relieved before promptly wishing to sink straight into the ground when Turukáno added: “Ah, Maeglin, what a beautiful ring! Where did you get it from?”

Lómion flushed, his hand tightening to a fist and his arm twitching as if he wished to hide the black opal ring, which Tyelperinquar had given him the night before.

“It’s Tyelpe’s work.” Maeglin said softly between his teeth, dark eyes fixed on the kaleidoscopic stone on his finger. “It’s for Yule.”

“Of course, who else would have such fine skill!” Turgon praised innocently. “It looks truly magnificent, may I see it better?”

Lómion made a face but proceeded to remove the ring from his finger. His uncle stopped him by lifting Maeglin’s pale hand into his tanned one and examining the ring on it from up close.

“Celebrimbor is famed for his craft, but I think with this gift he has truly outdone himself. And such a beautiful ring you should never take off, even to show it around!” Turgon chided, expression beyond guiltlessness. “Is it silver?”

Lómion’s eyes widened, Turgon’s unsubtle questioning no doubt finally breaking through the wall of ignorance and oblivion that the ellon had managed to erect around himself. Looking on with horror of his own, Tyelpe didn’t know whether he should feel thankful or murderous at Turukáno’s rather blunt attempts to get Maeglin to notice what was right under his nose.

“It’s white gold.” Tyelperinquar answered quickly, suddenly realising that Lómion had never asked about it.

“Pity.” Turgon lamented, and Maeglin’s marble-like demeanor was beginning to crack, colour flooding his white skin and his jaw twitching. “Silver becomes my nephew better.”

Turgon finally released Lómion’s hand and Celebrimbor wished dearly to keel over and die. How was he ever going to meet his friend’s eyes again?

“If you make rings like this one, your business will blossom into success, I can assure you. But I will leave you two to ponder on it” Turgon concluded cheerfully, heading towards the front door of the new establishment and leaving the two younger elves alone. “See you at dinner!”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this instalment! :D
> 
> Next chapter: Our heroes return to the cottage to gather their stuff, and Maeglin really does has another gift for Celebrimbor...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Maeglin has no idea what he's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't deserve the E rating, it should be M, but I decided to up it now, in order to keep you guessing for the future :D
> 
> Also, I promised Maeglin's gift for Celebrimbor, but it remains for the next chapter. Meanwhile, I hope you like this one!

The weather turned against them on the very last day of their backwards trip through Eldamar. The snowfall became heavier the further northwest they travelled and by the time they neared the familiar forests surrounding Tyelperinquar's old home, it had accumulated to waist-deep banks on either side of the road.

The decision was made to attempt the final stretch of the journey over lunch, and the elves had set off despite the worsening snowstorm in hopes of reaching the cottage before nightfall. At sundown they were still on the road having traversed only half the distance, but there was little point in attempting to journey back, so they pressed on through the wintry woods.

It was almost midnight when the familiar sight of Celebrimbor's forge greeted them, and both passengers and drivers were terribly relieved. In the past hours the wind had turned very cold, as the snowing had finally stopped, and the temperatures had subsequently dropped bellow freezing. The only positive thing was that the night was very bright - a full moon reflected off the undisturbed snowbanks that glittered with a pale pearlescent sheen and illuminated the road enough to journey safely.

“Stay here tonight.” Celebrimbor said to Helaeth once they arrived at the cottage. “It's dangerous to travel further on such a cold night.”

“We hate to impose on your hospitality, my Lord, but we will take this kindness. We will sleep here and leave first thing in the morning.” The elder elf bowed and Lómion and Tyelperinquar busied themselves with throwing some wood into the hearth and melting a pot of snow for everyone to wash and refresh after the long journey.

Maeglin was just pouring tea for the two weary elves, who had suffered worse from the chill at the front of the carriage than their passengers in the cabin, when Celebrimbor called for him from the second floor.

Upon climbing the ladder, Lómion saw what had distressed his friend.

“At least now we know why it’s so cold in here.” Tyelpe sighed, gesturing to the broken window in his bedroom. “I must have left it opened and the wind has done the rest. I knew I was forgetting something, I just couldn’t remember what it was-”

The large circular frame was hanging sadly crooked to one side, broken and creaking as it swayed on the wintry gale coming from outside. Underneath, half of Celebrimbor’s room was covered with snow. His bed had disappeared beneath a drift, which must have collected over the course of their stay with Turgon.

“We will fix it tomorrow when there is enough light. You can share with me tonight.” Maeglin concluded without hesitation.

“What are we going to do about the others?” Tyelperinquar asked sounding reluctant.

“I was thinking that Helaeth, being the smallest one, could take that cot in the forge.” Lómion supposed. “And I was going to suggest collecting all the spare blankets and fixing something for Silvanel in front of the fireplace. He’s young, he should be alright on the floor.”

“Are you sure you want to share with me?” Celebrimbor asked. “Your bed is very small. Maybe I can sleep on the floor as well?”

“It’s not like we didn’t cuddle on the way to Tirion.” Lómion smirked, feeling a little guilty for the anticipation that was building in his chest. The first time they had shared a bed had been completely accidental, yet very pleasant and hard to forget. Maeglin couldn't deny that he was happy to get another excuse to snuggle with his friend.

Tyelpe bit his lip but nodded.

After carrying some blankets to the first floor and arranging the bedding for the others, Lómion and Tyelperinquar climbed up the ladder and Lómion pushed opened the door to his room.

The chamber inside was as pristine as always, everything tucked into the correct place, the sheets crisp, the curtains folded, his desk a little dusty from the long absence, but otherwise tidy.

Lómion felt a pang of self-consciousness regardless, clearing his throat nervously as he unveiled the lantern and let its blue glow illuminate the room.

Celebrimbor was uncharacteristically quiet, standing stiffly near the door with a blank expression on his face. Maeglin glanced at him again and again, trying to read his reaction to the room, but Tyelperinquar was shutting him out completely.

Lómion traversed the small space and closed the door behind his friend.

“Well, it’s late, we should probably -”

“Yes.” Celebrimbor interrupted, suddenly snapping out of whatever strange mood had befallen him and moving towards the bed, taking off his clothes.

“- get some sleep.” Maeglin finished awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m undressing. I don’t usually sleep in my clothes.” Tyelpe said, divesting himself from his upper layers and pulling off his boots with quick, economic movements.

Watching him undress made something squeeze in Maeglin’s lower belly and he caught himself holding a breath. Promptly he looked away.

“I won’t undress all the way, but you should keep the window opened, unless you want to overheat.” Tyelperinquar added. He was down to his undertunic and drawers, which reached to the middle of his toned thighs. Lómion tried not to stare at the lean muscles, which rippled as Celebrimbor shifted his weight from one bare foot to another.

“It’s a blizzard outside.” Maeglin shook his head, making an effort to look anywhere but at the feanorian's long legs. “I’d rather you sleep in the nude than waking up half-buried in sleet.”

Tyelpe’s bright eyes flickered to him from underneath his dark eyelashes, but he said nothing, and made no move to undress further.

“We can kick off the covers, if you are too hot.” Lómion suggested, walking over to his cupboard to select a nightgown for himself. Celebrimbor turned his back, without the need of being told. “But then you might wake up clutched by an icicle with teeth chattering right into your ear.”

Maeglin attempted to chuckle at his own joke, but it fell flat, somehow not really funny. Why the hell was he saying such stupid things? What had gotten over him all of a sudden?

“Anyway, get comfortable, don’t wait for me.” He continued, trying to sound casual. He heard Tyelperinquar shifting his covers and sliding into his bed. Lómion found himself relieved that he had studiously changed the bedding before the journey. What would Celebrimbor have thought if he had needed to sleep in used sheets? Would he have been disgusted by Maeglin's lingering scent?

A little anxiously, Lómion covered the crystal lamp once again, plunging the room into relative darkness. The snow outside made the winter night very bright and it was easy to find his way back to the bed without fumbling.

As gracefully as he could, he lifted the blanket. As soon as his hand touched the sheets Maeglin was grateful that the cover was a light one. The bed was already toasty thanks to Tyelpe’s abnormally high body temperature. Not that Lómion minded - it was so good to get into a warm bed for a change. He was used to shivering between cool sheets for minutes before getting this cosy.

Stifling an inappropriate sigh of contentment, Maeglin tucked himself in, finding the space truly insufficient. The bed was so narrow that they couldn’t fit shoulder to shoulder. Tyelpe moved, turning on his side and facing away, in order to make room.

Lómion tried to relax, but as minutes ticked by sleep just wasn’t coming. It didn’t help that Celebrimbor’s heart was beating loudly, accelerating and slowing down in strange intervals. Filled with a nervous energy, which he couldn't identify, the dark-eyed elf tossed and turned a few more times and finally he asked:

“I’m getting a little crammed over here. May I put my arm around you?”

Tyelperinquar shrugged and Lómion took that as permission enough. He cuddled behind Tyelpe’s back, wrapped an arm around the other nér and listened as the feanorian's heartrate got alarmingly fast.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Maeglin asked, his own heart betraying his nervousness due to their proximity.

“Actually, I would prefer it if you don’t do that.” Celebrimbor said and once the words registered as the rejection they were, Lómion felt as if he had been run through by a blade. Thankfully, Celebrimbor quickly elaborated: “It’s not your fault, don’t take me wrong. I’m just unused to sharing a bed and touching makes it more difficult to fall asleep.”

“Maybe we should get drunk.” Maeglin mused. “It helped last time.”

“I think that would be a very bad idea.” Tyelpe laughed, turning to face Lómion until both of them were lying on their sides and facing each other.

“Why?” Maeglin asked and Celebrimbor’s eyes darted away, shuttering by his long eyelashes in a very becoming way. His smile looked guilty.

“Unless I manage to get drunk to the point of passing out really quickly, I might do something stupid.” Tyelpe sighed. “And we don’t have enough booze for that.”

“No, I suppose not.” Maeglin agreed and they both snickered. With Tyelperinquar’s tolerance, partially due to the fiery metabolism, which burnt the alcohol nearly as fast as it entered his body, it took obscene amounts of booze to knock him out. As for the other part of Celebrimbor's statement, Maeglin could only guess what he meant, but as much as he tried to ignore it, the words had awakened something daring and reckless within Lómion's gut.

Clearing his throat subtly, and pushing those deliberations away, Maeglin turned his attention back to his friend. Tyelpe's metallic eyes were always full of brightness, but they sparkled even more from up close and in the gloom of the moonlit room. Pale rays were hitting the nearby wall, illuminating Tyelperinquar’s face softly in their blue glow. From this close, Lómion could catch even the most minute expressions as they flickered across Celebrimbor’s fair features, like the little dash of uncertainty and worry, which pulled the edges of his sensitive mouth down as he once again regarded Maeglin with seriousness.

Lómion wondered if Tyelperinquar could see him just as well, but doubted it. His eyes were better adjusted to darkness than any other elf he had met, except for Eöl. Furthermore, he doubted Tyelpe knew that he was so keenly scrutinised, since the feanorian's eyes lingered on each of Lómion's features rather directly. It was the glances Celebrimbor directed below his nose that made Maeglin's breath labour and his mind realise just how near they were resting. There was barely any space between them, and it seemed that Celebrimbor indeed was looking at his lips…

The rush of blood to his head was so sudden that Lómion thought it would start coming out of his nose and ears. Snatches of past conversations were repeating in his mind, Turgon’s words in Tirion, Tyelpe’s not so subtle questioning about his interests, and the multiple times when he had claimed that he wouldn’t mind Maeglin’s attentions if they were ever turned on him.

Before Lómion had written everything off as jokes, or perhaps attempts to boost his low self-esteem, but after the talk with Turgon and the awkwardness, which had followed it, the dark-eyed elf wasn’t so certain. What if Celebrimbor actually liked him…

But that was literally impossible. Why would anyone like _him_ , Lómion thought. A questionable half-breed with a terrible past and all the disturbing qualities of his unstable father... Yet involuntarily, his eyes made their own trip to Celebrimbor’s mouth and then up and over the smoothness of the other smith's skin, the fine lines of his aristocratic cheekbones and the thick fall of his black hair.

“You look really handsome." Maeglin uttered, and as soon as he had spoken, wished he could take back the words somehow. Thankfully, judging by his quiet laugh, Tyelpe didn’t take his slip seriously.

“I can say the same about you.” Celebrimbor’s responded flipantly, but the gaze he turned to Maeglin was much darker and more intense than his tone suggested.

Lómion bit his lip anxiously. He could see that Tyelperinquar was waiting for something, but was too afraid to admit to himself what it was, even if it was becoming impossible to deny the thrill that was stirring in his blood.

And despite not having any experience in those matters at all, Maeglin just knew that if he did the right thing, everything could change between them. And for a long moment he wondered why he was so reluctant to do it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to - he admired Tyelpe more than enough, and in that moment, all he wanted was to get closer to him, get to know him even better, but at the same time, doing that meant something else as well.

It meant giving up on everything that he had, or rather, didn’t have with Idril. If Maeglin were to turn a new page and give in to that new yearning, it meant throwing away the scattered remains of everything he had treasured for so long. All the love he had poured over her - at her - all the time he had spent loving Celebrindal, all the thoughts, hopes, dreams, every little moment that his heart had broken - all for nothing. It was going to be lost and a part of him just couldn’t let it go.

He couldn't do it, even if Nienna had told him that the only way to heal his soul was to forget his unrequited love for Idril. Even if Nienna had specifically told him to seek out Celebrimbor. That was not something he planned to confess to his friend, but it was the truth. The Lady of Mercy had told him where to find the other smith and had strongly advised him to go looking for him, regardless of Lómion’s initial reluctance.

“Are you alright?” Tyelpe asked, startling Maeglin out of his bleak deliberation.

“Yes, I was just thinking.” Lómion admitted, trying to affect cheerfulness but sounding bitter instead.

“About Idril again?” Celebrimbor asked casually.

Maeglin swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“A little. But not just.” Lómion confessed, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “What about you - what are you thinking about?”

“You.” Celebrimbor stated and Maeglin’s heart did a curious little somersault in his rib-cage.

“Good or bad things?” Lómion teased, but it was brittle, so obviously forced.

“I wasn’t passing judgement.” Tyelperinquar answered quietly.

“Maybe you should.” Maeglin laughed bitterly, and then added, “Do you think we can still get any sleep?”

“We might, if you refrain from touching me.” Tyelpe advised softly. "I really won't be able to relax as long as your hand is where it is-"

Suddenly Lómion realised that he had never removed his arm from Celebrimbor's side and his fingers had taken to nervously massaging the tight muscles of the other smith's back, through the cotton of his undertunic.

"Oh, yes." Maeglin tried to hide his complete shock and play it off as intentional. "Sorry, you just seem a bit tense, that's all."

Tyelperinquar didn't seem to buy his excuses but didn't say anything. Meanwhile, Lómion found it very hard to relinquish his hold on him, seriously his hand felt just fine where it was, and it was way more comfortable lying that way, rather than trying to cram his arms to his chest and suffocate in the small space. One more look at Celebrimbor's face revealed that the feanorian was worrying his lips with his teeth and it looked way too inviting.

 _'I want to kiss you.'_ Maeglin thought and imagined himself saying it. He wondered if Tyelpe would let him. It was possible, so he decided to try his luck, just for once.

When he shifted closer Celebrimbor lurched back. It was not the reaction Maeglin wanted, but it was exactly the kind of thing he had come to expect. Sadly, he was not at all surprised that the other elf was trying to pull away, just very disappointed and by no small amount hurt.

"What are you doing?" Tyelpe asked breathlessly.

“Nothing, I just...” He trailed off, his heart in his throat. He could still save face and lie, but really, what was another mistake in his life. He was born to make them, after all. "I just thought I should kiss you."

Celebrimbor’s breath hitched and his eyebrows rose, but other than that he gave no reaction.

“Would you mind? Just once? I promise, it won't mean anything.” Maeglin continued, speaking quickly and trying to hide the nervous shivers that were shaking him.

“You want to kiss me - once?” Tyelperinquar asked in a very neutral tone that scared Lómion.

“Yes, just this time.” Maeglin trembled, finding it hard to remain still in his anxiety. Why on earth couldn't he keep his mouth shut? What was Celebrimbor going to think of him? What if he had lost his friendship because of such stupidity?

“Look, I would understand if you don't want to.” He retracted quickly, feeling himself burn in shame. “I get it. I really do. I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“Actually, why not-” Tyelpe decided suddenly. “Just once - it can’t hurt that bad, right?”

“It’s not going to hurt at all.” Maeglin promised feeling both triumphant and terrified. He could hardly believe that Celebrimbor was agreeing. The possibility had never truly registered in his mind and he was suddenly getting stage fright. He had never kissed anyone and despite really wanting to, having imagined it multiple times, he had no idea if he could do it.

Tyelperinquar answered with an ambivalent hum, and then turned his eyes to Lómion. The look of desire in them made Maeglin’s heart skip a beat. It stirred a sizzling feeling in his guts and the first true pangs of arousal in his groin.

Mercifully, Celebrimbor took matters into his own hands, leaning across the small stretch between them and planting a small kiss on Maeglin’s waiting lips.

The feeling was so intense and so quick that the withdrawal felt like millions of tiny needles piercing Lómion’s heart. The yearning only got worse after the brief touch but Maeglin forced himself to keep his mouth shut and make an appreciative sound of some sort.

"Was that all you wanted?" Tyelpe asked and Lómion nodded, not trusting his voice.

 _"No, I need so much more!"_ He screamed in his head, but outwardly he pulled his hand away and huddled back a bit. He could taste Celebrimbor on the tip of his lips and it was driving him beyond the limits of reason. He had to make the whirlwind in his head stop somehow, or otherwise- He didn't even know.

"Oh, Lómion." Tyelperinquar sighed tiredly and turned to lie on his back, looking away with a strange kind of resignation.

"What?" He asked and his voice sounded guttural and scratchy. He could barely recognise it himself.

"Goodnight." Tyelpe answered softly and rolled over, turning his back to the dark-eyed elf.

...

The rest of the night was long and tiring. Even though Maeglin was exhausted enough to fall asleep, visions of how things could have went, kept waking him up again and again.

He dreamed of pressing kisses to Tyelperinquar’s mouth, biting on its soft fullness and pulling with his teeth, until he was allowed to explore the wet inside with his tongue. He envisioned Tyelpe liking that, pulling him closer, wrapping his strong arms around him and holding him tightly.

 _'Please.'_ Maeglin was begging shamelessly in his dreams, without wishing that he hadn't, and with no fear that Tyelperinquar would reject him.

In his dreams he pushed his knee between Celebrimbor’s legs and pressed their hips together, finding Tyelpe already hot and hard for him. And then Tyelperinquar’s nimble, elegant hand was sliding between their bodies and palming Maeglin's arousal through the nightgown, gripping it's hard length through the light material and tugging so deliciously...

Lómion awoke with a start, gasping, his heart palpitating. He was aroused and painfully so, but Celebrimbor was still asleep by his side, breathing evenly.

Maeglin felt so mortified, he wished he could die. Worst of all, he had no way to deal with the insistent erection that was tenting his nightdress. It was almost morning, and outside was frigid, and there was literally no way he could get away with satisfying that need.

Grinding his teeth, Lómion willed himself to think of Idril and Tuor. That was one way to quench the heat in his belly - the most sure and tested way to feel as if he had swallowed a block of jagged ice. Thankfully the foolhardy method worked once again and soon he felt cold inside, despite the warmth on his skin, radiating from Tyelperinquar who was so close, and yet so out of reach. Closing his eyes tightly, Maeglin tried once again to sleep.

...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maeglin was just trying to spoil his best friend a little bit...

After breakfast on the next day, Turgon’s men drove away with the carriage, promising to return in a fortnight to pick up the smiths and their belongings.

Lómion avoided meeting Tyelpe’s eyes throughout the morning, too aware of the thoughtful glances he was receiving. In the end, Maeglin decided to ignore the events of the previous night and carry on as if nothing substantial had occurred. Denial was by far his best coping strategy - tried, tested and proven to work every time.

Soon after they were left on their own, Lómion approached Celebrimbor, who had busied himself in the forge immediately after saying goodbye to Helaeth and Silvanel.

“Do you have a moment?” Maeglin asked and Tyelpe peered up from the materials he was sorting through.

“Of course.” Tyelperinquar said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a hip on the workbench in expectation.

Lómion tried not to stare at the angle of Celebrimbor's hips, no matter how interesting his eyes deemed it.

“If you are not busy, may I give you my gift now?” He asked.

Tyelpe perked up at that and pushed off from the table with a smile. 

“Alright.” He said, little sparks of excitement lighting up his face. Seeing the other smith so cheerful made Maeglin grin like an idiot and he hurried to turn away.

“Come with me!” Lómion urged, leading Celebrimbor outside.

They went to one of the outdoor shelters, which Tyelperinquar used for storage. Lómion had claimed that one as his own and had used it to work on Celebrimbor's rather large gift.

The shed itself had no walls, merely beams, which held up a wooden roof. Before leaving for Tirion, Maeglin had cleared most of the space, which was currently occupied by a large canvas-veiled object, standing in the middle of it's stone-laid floor.

“Your secret project is my gift?” Tyelpe guessed as he spotted the destination of their short walk.

“You got me.” Lómion chuckled. “I hope you have been honest and haven’t been peeking and ruining the surprise.”

“I respect people’s privacy.” Celebrimbor said.

“Alright, so why don’t you check what it is?” Maeglin grinned and gestured to the object underneath the veil.

Tyelperinquar stepped forward and pulled the sheet off to reveal the large forged bronze bathtub, which Lómion had painstakingly made for him. The feanorian gasped in awe.

“Lómion , this is beautiful - thank you!” Tyelpe exclaimed and turned to Maeglin with a poignant smile, opening his arms for an embrace, which the dark-eyed elf hurried to walk into. They clasped their arms around each other briefly, and stepped back a little too quickly, keeping a friendly space between them. “Such skillful forgework - it's almost too good to be used for this!”

“Don’t speak nonsense!” Lómion disagreed. “Of course you are going to use it! I made it specifically so that you don’t have to wash in the cold outside like a dog.”

“I’m sorry if I have inconvenienced you in that way.” Celebrimbor answered seriously. “You should have told me that the shower wasn’t up to your standards.”

“You misunderstand me.” Lómion shook his head. “I didn’t mind it that badly. However, it got me thinking that you haven't thought of your own comforts for a while, if you have been doing this for centuries. So, I wanted to give you something that would make you feel good. To spoil you a bit, if you will.”

Tyelperinquar gave him a strange look and Maeglin blushed. Those were the exact thoughts that had lead him to making the bathtub and at the time they had appeared innocent enough. He wondered if they had a new meaning after everything that had occurred between them.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Celebrimbor said quietly. “I’m truly touched by the amount of care you have put into this and your concern about me.”

Lómion smiled shyly to the floor, feeling all warm and fuzzy in his chest. Encouraged by Tyelpe's reception of his gift and his appreciation for it, Lómion decided to go through with the next stage of his gift-giving plan, which he had deemed optional and only fit if circumstances seemed right. And they did, so he added:

“In that case, would you like to test it right now? I’d be happy to draw a bath for you.” He said and looked up to see a very surprised and somewhat embarrassed Celebrimbor.

“You don’t have to, I can do that myself.” Tyelperinquar hesitated.

“I wish to, and I could give you a shoulder massage while I’m at it.” Maeglin proposed with a sheepish grin, feeling his heart rate increase and his cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

Nothing wrong with a little back rub, he thought. He had seen friends massaging each other’s backs in the communal baths, and had always wished to have that kind of intimacy with someone. It was fine, Lómion reminded himself.

An answering smile was tugging on the corners of his friend’s lips, one that Celebrimbor was fighting to keep at bay.

“I can hardly say no to that, can I?” The jewelsmith answered with a rueful little laugh and thus it was decided.

A little later Maeglin had filled the bronze bathtub with boiling water, which steamed in the sunny winter's day. Since the tub was too heavy to move by two elves, even ones as mighty as Tyelperinquar and Lómion, they had decided to just draw the bath out in the open, under the roof of the shelter. It wasn’t such a bad idea - Celebrimbor rarely got cold and the view of the snowy forest was worth it.

Lómion had divested himself of his cloak and rolled the sleeves of his tunic to the middle of his biceps to avoid getting wet. Tyelpe emerged from the cottage in only his under-layer, carrying a few towels along.

“You can get in when you are ready.” Lómion invited, kneeling on a wooden crate, which he had dragged to the edge of the bathtub, in order to get comfortable. He politely looked away when the other smith reached for the edges of his clothes and waited to hear him get into the frothy bathwater before turning to regard him.

“This feels really good.” Tyelpe sighed, rolling his bared shoulders in the hot water.

“I’m glad.” Maeglin smiled and filled a pitcher from the tub. He assisted Celebrimbor, pouring the soapy water over his head, as the other elf washed his long dark hair.

It was a pleasant and relaxing activity for both of them and soon the feanorian was leaning against the end of the tub, with his hair washed and his fair skin flushed from the heat, simply soaking in the scented water.

“Would you like me to give you a massage now?” Lómion asked and Celebrimbor hummed in agreement.

Pulling his sleeves further up, Maeglin took a deep, calming breath before allowing his fingers to close over the heated skin of Tyelperinquar’s back. The truth was, he had never given a massage before, but he didn’t think it could be too hard. He had seen it done, and had tried to do it on himself a number of times when his muscles had felt stiff after long hours working in the mines of Gondolin.

What he didn’t anticipate was the thrill that made his breaths come out short and the way his hands trembled when they touched Tyelpe’s shoulders. His heart was beating hard and he could barely believe anything could feel as good as Celebrimbor’s skin and the hard, sculptured muscles just beneath it. Biting his lips, he begun rubbing little circles into the smith’s shoulders and running his thumbs up and down his upper spine, along the tense spots he found there.

“How is it?” He asked, feeling self-conscious about his lack of experience and his questionable technique.

“Perfect, thank you.” Tyelperinquar praised, and although Maeglin didn’t really believe him, he couldn’t help but smile and shiver harder.

That went on for a while, his wet fingers turning frigid from the icy breeze, which came from the forest around them, and then heating up again every time Lómion dipped them under the water.

He wanted to go on like that forever, simply touching Celebrimbor in that way and enjoying the work of loosening up the knots in his shoulders and neck, but with his scant clothing and the wind that howled amongst the trees, soon his teeth begun chattering and Tyelpe turned to stop him.

“You are getting cold.” He said.

“I’m alright.” Maeglin lied, not wanting to end their moment so soon. “I wouldn't mind being in that hot water right now, but I'm fine. Let me finish your massage.”

Celebrimbor looked away and offered neutrally:

“You can get in, if you want.”

Lómion’s eyebrows rose up at the proposal.

“There isn’t that much space.” He admitted, although in his mind he judged that theoretically they could fit if he sat at the other end of the bathtub.

“It's up to you.” Tyelpe shrugged and Maeglin gazed at the still steaming bathwater with yearning. In the end he just couldn’t stop himself - the idea was too good to pass on, especially given how rigid his body had become from the cold.

“Alright, I will just warm myself and then be out.” He said, unfolding from his kneeling position behind Tyelpe’s back and brushing off the dust from his pants.

He hurried to undo the lacings of his tunic and Tyelpe didn’t need to be reminded how Lómion felt about being seen in his bare skin - the smith had already turned his head away and closed his eyes, giving Maeglin all the privacy he needed.

Lómion unvested and stepped barefoot on the frozen stone floor by the cast bronze legs of the tub. Getting in with Tyelperinquar suddenly felt like a big deal, and not only because Celebrimbor was equally unclad underneath the foaming water. It wasn’t as if Maeglin had never bathed in communal pools. He had, but it had been before Angband. Ever since the torture he had endured, and the gruesome markings on his skin, which he had been given along with his supposed freedom, Lómion had hidden from other’s view. However, no such shameful and incriminating scars remained on his reborn body, plus the chill of the wind was almost too much to bear, so Maeglin threw one leg over the edge of the bathtub and then the other.

Tyelpe moved his legs out of the way and Lómion sat inside fully, bubbling water overflowing from the edge as he shuddered with relief. The hot water felt fantastic around his chilled skin. He held his breath as he adjusted, knees bumping into Tyeleprinquar’s bent legs and water swashing off the edges with each movement. Finally he settled down and sunk all the way to his chin in the water, hiding his body as much as possible.

“I’m ready.” He said and the other nér opened his eyes and turned to face him.

Tyelpe gave a brief smile but after that his expression turned serious, studying Maeglin’s face carefully. Lómion couldn’t help but sink in even deeper, water lapping at his lower lip. Thankfully Tyelperinquar didn’t comment, but strangely, for the first time ever, Maeglin wished to explain himself somehow. He wanted Celebrimbor not just to accept him as he was, but to understand the reasons behind his behaviour.

“You never told me what they did to you.” Lómion spoke softly, breaching a subject that made both of them visibly tense.

“I assume you mean the torture.” Celebrimbor responded, flawlessly connecting the dots between Maeglin’s strange behaviour and his general wording. Lómion loved him for being quick like that.

Maeglin nodded, despite the way the other elf’s fine features had become as still and as hard as stone.

“It's really not something I like to talk about. Or recall.” Tyelperinquar enunciated slowly. True to his words, he did not look thrilled in the slightest by the unexpected turn of their conversation.

“Yes, but-” Lómion took in a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. This was something he really needed to say and get out of the way. Perhaps he just needed to finally confess to someone. No one had asked about what had happened to him. No one knew, and Maeglin preferred it that way. However, Celebrimbor wasn’t just anyone and if someone could understand him and the irrational fear, which still haunted him, if anyone could help him get over it - that was Tyelpe.

“They stripped me naked. Before they did what they did.” He spoke finally, praying that Tyelperinquar would understand. “Did they do that to you too?”

Celebrimbor’s expression was hard and for a moment Lómion feared that he might strike him for insisting on bringing up those memories. But in the end, he didn’t, he merely focused his grey eyes on some far away spot and turned his face away, as if to hide his true thoughts.

“They strip everybody. It’s standard procedure.” He said, voice unaffected, as if he was talking about something irrelevant. “However, you shouldn't be hard on yourself for getting so scarred by it. It works - that’s why they keep doing it. Stripping someone, making them feel like a piece of meat, like an object, brought low with no rights, no dignity. It hurts more than some of their bloodier methods.”

Maeglin swallowed with difficulty. There was little solace in the knowledge, and it made him feel even guiltier to know that Tyelpe had suffered more and still somehow accepted the past, whereas Lómion still couldn’t get over how he had been treated, when in the end he had broken and betrayed everyone he knew, in order to make it stop.

“How did you resist?” Maeglin asked, hating himself for being thus weak and worthless. “How could you handle all that torture and die under it?! I couldn’t - I tried, but-.”

Hot tears were forming in his eyes, and he had to lower his head to hide the shame in them. He heard water swash out of the tub as Tyelpe raised himself a bit and leaned forward, getting closer to Lómion.

“Lómion, he had nothing to offer me.” Tyelpe’s voice had turned softer, kinder, reassuring. “Don’t you see - he had taken everything that mattered already. The last option he was offering me was no option at all. Surrendering the rings to him was equal to surrendering the last bit of myself, which I had left to protect. The only thing that he had failed to corrupt and destroy, my last hope, my only chance of redemption. No amount of pain and humiliation was worth that.”

“There was no shining future he could offer me, no promise of a cure to a forbidden love.” Tyelpe continued, his elegant fingers tipping Maeglin’s chin just a bit to make the dark-eyed elf meet his warm gaze. “He had shattered my heart and was offering me only darkness if I bent to his will. That realisation kept me strong through those hours and days of torture - I knew that if I surrendered, what awaited me was far worse.”

Lómion too a deep breath, once again surprised by how well Celebrimbor understood him. Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from him, Maeglin sucked in an unstable breath and sat up, allowing the water to drip down his bare shoulders and upper chest. Tyelperinquar's eyes briefly flickered down, taking in his new position, but strangely it didn’t make Lómion feel vulnerable, exposed or as terribly ashamed of his own skin as he had felt before. It felt all right. It was… safe.

“Thank you.” He said, his voice coming out a little husky with suppressed emotions.

Tyelpe nodded slightly.

“I truly hope that you don’t wish to keep talking about this.” He said, lowering his gaze to the side.

“Not at all.” Maeglin reassured him. “I just - I just want you to know that I am grateful for your acceptance and for giving me your forgiveness even when you understand my selfish motives.”

“If I am honest,” Tyelperinquar begun with a rueful smile. “I would have broken in your situation as well. If Sauron was offering to stop hurting me and give me a beautiful elleth and a kingdom, I would have gladly conceded him whatever he wished to know. I know how persuasive his methods can be.”

“Although,” Celebrimbor added after some deliberation, “I never fail to wonder what were you thinking when it comes to his promise about Idril? Didn’t you realise that her love could not be won in such a way?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” Maeglin sighed in resignation. “I was blinded by the pain and the grief and my stupid sense of entitlement. I believed I deserved better than to be broken-hearted while a mortal got what I wanted so much. I was also driven crazy by the hurt, both the physical, which Sauron’s thralls inflicted upon me, and the emotional one, of knowing that I would never, ever have Idril’s heart. To tell you the truth-”

He broke off, afraid of uttering his next words, not only because of Tyelpe’s reaction, but also because saying them outloud meant that he had to actually acknowledge them in his own heart.

“The truth is, I always knew that I was going to lose.” He whispered, unable to look up and meet Celebrimbor’s gaze. “I always knew that this whole plan was a lie and that I was about to fail and that Idril would never love me. I chose to believe it. I don’t know why, but I did. And it lead me to commit an unforgivable crime, bring ruin to everything I loved and face my own death in shame.”

Tyelperinquar remained silent for a while but finally he spoke just as quietly.

“If it helps, I too made my greatest mistake out of desire to believe in a lie.” He said and Lómion glanced up. He was grateful for Tyelpe’s support, even if he privately thought that their situations hadn’t been exactly the same. Celebrimbor had been deceived. Maeglin had deceived himself.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” He offered.

“Let’s not!” Tyelpe agreed eagerly and straightened, taking a deep breath. And then he added: “Any chance that I can get the rest of that massage now?”

Lómion raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering that he had left off in the middle of the massage he had offered.

“I don’t see why not.” He agreed, happy to have a distraction and continue his earlier exploration of the other elf’s soft skin.

Tyelpe turned around in the tub, bringing his back to its centre, without crossing the invisible line they had drawn between them. The foam was clearing and Maeglin kept his eyes carefully above the water level.

Trying to ignore the strange thrill in his belly, he lifted his dripping hands from the cooling water and reached forward to clasp them over Tyelpe’s shoulders. The jewelsmith gave a soft sigh of contentment and it did something funny to Lómion’s heart.

He pulled on Tyelperinquar’s shoulders just a bit, making him lean back a little to ease the tension in his extended hands, but Tyelpe misinterpreted his intentions and begun relaxing against him.

“Wait, wait a second-” Maeglin said a little too urgently, suddenly embarrassed. Celebrimbor pulled away sharply, giving him a questioning glance over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Maeglin looked around, unwilling to stop what they were doing, but at the same time unable to just let Tyelpe lean against his bare front. Thankfully, a hair towel sitting nearby provided the solution. He pulled it underwater and draped it over his lap. That was probably enough to preserve their decency, he decided.

“All right, you can lean back now.” He said, gently guiding Celebrimbor and spreading his legs to accommodate the other elf between them. The touch of Tyelpe against his thighs sent shivers up Lómion’s spine and made every fiber on his body stand in excitement.

Shuddering a bit, he continued his ministrations, rubbing slow circles into the other smith’s broad shoulders, his movements slowing down to a languid and exploratory rhythm, as his mind began to wonder. Maeglin could no longer help himself, he wished his touch to linger a little more, explore a little lower. Biting his lip guiltily, he tugged Tyelpe closer, until the feanorian’s back was lying flush against his chest, and his damp hair was catching on Lómion’s cheek.

Tyelperinquar went willingly, pliant and quiet in every way. He barely seemed to be breathing, Maeglin noticed. Lómion was holding his own breath to keep from panting. How had they ended up in that position? Moving his hands to Celebrimbor’s biceps, Maeglin tried to continue the pretence of the massage, just to give himself time to come into terms of what was happening and to calm down his racing heart. No such luck, since the sight of Tyelpe’s bent knees disappearing beneath the water, and glimpses of his legs spreading underneath the remaining foam made him almost lose his mind.

He bit his lip hard enough to hurt and looked away, keeping his unseeing eyes on the snowy forest around them. He tried to control his breath and to think of something other than Tyelpe’s nudity against him, or the steam of the feanorian’s breath clouding his vision. The whole situation was causing a very problematic reaction and Maeglin tried to remind himself of Tuor and Idril, the most unsexy thought he could muster, but somehow his mind couldn’t focus even on his revulsion over their coupling, when Celebrimbor’s legs were brushing his own.

Lómion’s touches were becoming a little harder as he worked the muscles at the base of Tyelpe’s neck and Celebirmbor moaned, sinking a bit lower into the water.

“Tell me if I’m pressing too hard.” Maeglin spoke softly by his ear.

“It’s all right.” Tyelpe’s answered simply, but his voice sounded lower and coarser than usual.

“What is it then?” Lómion asked.

“I think you should stop.” Tyelperinquar said.

“Why?” He frowned, his disappointment audible in his tone. “I thought you liked this…”

“I do.” Celebrimbor reassured him. He pulled away slightly and turned around in the tub, his hands resting on either edge. “I just wish to reciprocate.”

Maeglin’s heart accelerated at the suggestion.

“Alright.” He agreed breathlessly, anticipation peaking in his belly as he slowly gave his back to Tyelpe, sitting on his knees in front of him and readjusting the towel over his crotch, painfully aware that the water had cleared almost completely by that point.

Celebrimbor didn’t pull him over the way Lómion had, instead he shuffled closer on his knees behind Maeglin and placed his warm, strong hands on Lómion’s stiff shoulders. His nimble fingers begun working on his muscles softly at first, but they still managed to elicit heavy sighs from Maeglin, no matter how the dark-eyed smith tried to remain quiet. His muscles were tenser than he had realised and the feeling of someone else tending to them was better than he had ever imagined. As Tyelperinquar massaged each tight spot along his spine, Lómion shuddered and tiny shivers ran all over his body, making his skin prickle and his eyes shutter in absolute bliss.

Quickly he begun to relax and soon he was sitting on his bum, with his legs bent beside him and resting most of his weight on Celebrimbor’s arms. Tyelperinquar was tireless in his ministrations, not complaining at all as Lómion nearly sagged into his hands, allowing him to hold him up as he worked his way down Maeglin’s back.

When Celebrimbor got to his lower back, Lómion bent his torso forward and steadied himself with his hands on the bottom of the tub, giving Tyelpe more access to his back.

“This feels great.” He commented, his own voice sounding too much like a purr for comfort. “How come you are so good?”

“My father was always complaining of a sore back.” Tyelperinquar divulged, voice sounding neutral, as if he was very deep in concentration. “He often asked for massages after forge work. Celegorm said that before he taught me how to do it, he bothered his brothers with it, but after that he never trusted anyone else to touch him. I think he was suspicious of everyone, even my uncles.”

“Damn.” Maeglin shook his head. “Curufin must have been quite a character.”

“He was.” Tyelpe chuckled.

“I will thank him if I ever meet him.” Lómion quipped. “Maybe he just kept asking you because you are the best.”

Celebrimbor answered with a laugh.

“How does it feel now?” He asked, his hands running a long line from Maeglins’ lower spine to his shoulders.

“Much better. I’m so relaxed now.” Lómion sighed and let himself lean back into Tyelperinquar's chest.

Tyelpe let out a surprised laugh and gently pushed him away.

“The water is almost cold. Want to get out anytime soon?” He asked.

Maeglin sighed deeply. Celebrimbor had a point, unfortunately.

“Sure. But let’s do this again.” Lómion said, turning around. He found Tyelperinquar a little flushed, despite the lukewarm water.

“Would you like to get out first?” Tyelpe asked, smiling contritely.

Maeglin shot him a slightly suspicious look, but assented. Celebrimbor closed his eyes and Lómion hurried to get out. Outside the breeze was enough to get him almost running to the cottage in his quest to the fireplace. Tyelperinquar followed soon after, coming in with a towel wrapped around his waist. He was dripping water, and walked barefoot, but evidently even his blood couldn’t keep him warm while wet during winter. He sat in front of the fireplace, shaking a little.

“Cold?” Maeglin laughed, having already redressed, but still in the middle of drying his hair.

Tyelpe nodded. The orange light from the fire played intriguingly over his wet skin, making the little droplets, which still ran down his back glisten tantalisingly.

Lómion felt like hitting his head against the wall. Since when had he begun staring at his friend like that? His treacherous mind was suggesting all sorts of reasons to lick the moisture off Celebrimbor’s skin, his imagination painted a million pictures of the patterns he could trace with his mouth, up and down the feanorian's toned body. The shadows in the hollows of Celebrimbor's neck looked intriguing enough to die for, and the tangled wet mess of his hair was just screaming for someone's fingers to run through it. Maeglin's most likely...

“Are you going to put some clothes on?” The dark-eyed ellon asked tersely.

“I usually do, don’t I?” Tyelpe winked.

“I’ll go make tea.” Maeglin bit his lip. “And by the time I'm back, you better be decent!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Maeglin and Celebrimbor move to Tirion pernamently and open The Hopeful Bachelor's Wedding Band's Shop.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celebrimbor and Maeglin effectively open Valinor's first ever lonely hearts club.

A few months after it’s tentative opening, The Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands Shop had turned from the butt of pretty much every joke, to the most popular jewelry store in the city.

After the initial shock and rumours its opening spewed, many waited in line simply to ogle Turgon’s unfairly cosseted nephew, Maeglin the betrayer of Gondolin, and his partner Celebrimbor, the equally loathed heir of Feanor, the only one of that blasted line that had managed to escape Mandos.

However, most soon realised that the ellons, whom they glimpsed standing behind the shop’s counter, were rather ordinary-looking and lacklustre, compared to the beautiful works, which glittered from the displays.

And after about a month of constant crowding, but no sales, (and downright despair, albeit well-hidden in the eyes of the owners), The Hopeful Bachelors' sales suddenly spiked, and soon Tyelpe and Lómion had trouble keeping up with the amount of commissions they received.

A sign appeared at the shop’s door soon after:

“Jewelsmiths Wanted!”

After that slowly but surely the workshops and forges, which the building had in plenty, got occupied by an ever increasing number of skilled craftsmen, who came from all over Eldamar to work and learn from the fabled smiths.

That kept going until a second shop floor had to be opened and Tyelperinquar and Maeglin found themselves in need of hiring shop attendants as well, in order to have a little spare time left.

...

"And so we hired Glamben and Laer to help us with the shifts." Tyelpe finished his account of the events thus far for the gathered guests. 

Aredhel had helped organise a dinner party as a means of celebrating their shop's first quarter of operation, and he and Lómion were currently sitting on a long table with all their new colleagues and Turgon's family, in a cleared up area on the first floor of the Wedding Bands Shop. 

“I told you it would be a stunning success!” Turgon raised his goblet.

Idril and Tuor were also politely present, if somewhat quiet. Maeglin was carefully not looking anywhere near the golden-haired nis’ direction. Next to them was Elwing, all by herself as per usual, her husband never available after sundown.

Celebrimbor felt a pang of pity for her and did his best to engage her in conversation. He knew he was treading a fine line between being a good host and appearing untowardly interested in a married elleth, thus he chose his words and subjects carefully when addressing her.

Írissë was as always seated by her son and asking away about Maeglin’s life. It wasn't long after dinner when she asked to see the state of his room and check whether he had everything he needed.

As they excused themselves to head upstairs, Lómion gave his friend a long-suffering eye roll, to which Celebrimbor patted him on the back affectionately.

Turgon took a sip of his goblet, eyeing the vacated space beside the Feanorian over the rim of his glass and Tyelpe knew that he was about to get drilled before the lord had even made a move to slide across the chairs and sit next to him.

“So, cousin.” Turukáno begun casually, setting his goblet down on the table next to the one, which belonged to Maeglin.

Celebrimbor smiled to hide an exasperated sigh.

“How is everything?” Turgon asked.

“The shop is going great!” Tyelpe started, knowing full well that it was not the answer his kinsmen was looking for. “We have twelve jewelsmiths now working for us, three more have applied, but we only have two additional spaces. We will have to starting turning people down. We took down the sign a month ago, but word travels and…”

“Yes, yes, you told me all of that already.” Turgon waved his hand. “What about your personal things? How’s your life?”

“My life is just fine, thank you.” Celebrimbor stated evenly. “How is yours?”

“Mine is wonderful, although it would be better if you had some good news for me.” Turgon cringed at him shrewdly in a way that said as loud as words ‘I know you are avoiding my question and I’m not going to stop until I get an answer’.

“At the moment I have no news for you.” Tyelpe looked away tiredly.

“No news whatsoever? Good or bad?” Turukáno insisted.

“None.” Celebrimbor shook his head.

“And why is that? Have you done what I advised you?” Turgon asked, leaning in with a frown.

“No, actually I haven’t.” Tyelpe bristled a little. “I don’t think that this constant pressuring is doing any good either way. It might even end up having the opposite effect.”

Turukáno leaned away, giving Celebrimbor some space.

“Do you mean that for you or for him?” He asked, sounding worried.

“For both of us.” Tyelpe sighed. “Look, you already know how I feel on this matter.”

Celebrimbor looked around them, making sure no one was listening to their not-so-cryptic conversation.

“And I know what you think about his feelings on the same matter. However, sometimes these things aren't enough. It may need more time, or it may be hopeless. Either way, trying to force it isn’t going to do any good.”

“I understand.” Turukáno breathed. “It’s just that I think it would be a great relief for everyone if something was to happen sooner rather than later.” 

His eyes darted to where Idril sat and it confirmed Celebrimbor’s suspicions that Turgon wished not just for Maeglin and Aredhel’s happiness, but also his daughter’s peace of mind, by marrying off his nephew and putting that old story to rest.

“As much as I’d like to help, it doesn’t work that way.” Celebrimbor stated with finality and was glad to see Maeglin returning.

“Ah Lómion, there you are!” Turukáno turned to his nephew with a slightly forced smile. “Do you mind if I sit here and talk with Tyelpe for a bit?”

Celebrimbor made a pleading face behind him and Maeglin cleared his throat.

“Actually I was hoping to talk to Tyelpe in private for a moment.” Lómion said.

“In that case, I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way!” Turukáno exclaimed with a genuine grin blossoming over his noble features.

“Come, Tyelpe, let’s get some air.” Maeglin extending his hand to Celebrimbor who took it and allowed the other elf to pull him up.

They went outside in the courtyard, admiring the stars overhead.

“This has been one hell of a ride, hasn’t it?” Lómion sighed, his head tilted down as his fingers trailed over a delicate night-flower, the kind which Aredhel had chosen for their garden, specifically because they resembled those that had bloomed in Nan Elmoth.

“Have they been pestering you too?” Celebrimbor’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” Maeglin’s gaze snapped up.

“Oh, nothing…” Tyelpe shook his head, realising his mistake. “It’s just that Turukáno and Írissë have expressed concerns about our workload.”

“Oh that - yes, they have been nagging me as well.” Lómion chuckled. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

“What then?” Celebrimbor titled his head and stepped a little closer, turning his attention to the dark-blue flower cupped in Lómion’s pale hand.

“I was going to wait to see if you remembered, or at least until everyone else had left, but since we’re already here-” Maeglin plucked the blossom carefully and placed it behind Tyelpe’s ear taking a moment to smile at him admiringly before continuing his thought, “Today marks one year since we met.”

“Really?” Celebrimbor’s eyes widened.

“Yes. And why am I not surprised that you forgot?” Maeglin laughed.

“I didn’t bothered to check the dates before you came along.” Tyelpe admitted, gingerly readjusting the flower behind his ear to sit more securely, feeling it’s velvet petals brush against his fingertips. It made him think of how Maeglin’s lips had felt all those months ago when he had briefly felt them against his own. The longing those memories brought made his heart clench.

“For a long while my days and years had turned into an endless stream of sameness until I had completely forgotten the use of a calendar.” The Feanorian recalled with a rueful chuckle. “I’m glad you took notice of the date we met.”

“Well, call me sentimental, but it seemed like a good occasion to exchange gifts. And it’s alright if you don’t have anything for me, since you didn’t know.” Lómion hurried to say. “But I have made something for you.”

“You really spoil me.” Celebrimbor said and bit his lip, remembering the last time that word had passed his friend’s lips and the steamy experience of sharing a bath, which had followed it. Noticing the blush on his friend’s cheeks, Maeglin must have been thinking the same and Tyelpe felt a little embarrassed about bringing it up.

Thankfully the moment’s awkwardness quickly dissipated as Lómion lead Celebrimbor to one of the outdoor workshops and pulled out an ordinary-looking box.

Maeglin didn’t have a flair for packaging, Tyelpe had noticed, but that didn’t mean that his gifts were subpar in any way - if anything, beautiful wrapping wasn’t needed when the things he made were so valuable.

“For you.” Maeglin said and handed him the heavy box. “And I’d spoil you any chance I get. You deserve it for being naive or crazy enough to take me in.”

“I believe currently you are the one who has taken me in.” Celebrimbor grinned, lifting up the cardboard lid slowly and turning the contents to the light, so he could see inside. “And it wasn’t done from naivety or craziness, I can assure you.”

“Why then?” Lómion challenged, tilting his head to the side and looking at Celebrimbor a little mischievously. “Pity?”

“Maybe.” Celebrimbor winked, knowing it would elicit an exasperated growl from his friend. The smith turned his attention to the forged steel rods inside the box. They weighed quite substantially and when he lifted one up, he noticed that the end had been precisely shaped into a tiny, sharp spatula. “Oh this is wonderful!”

“Was it loneliness then?” Maeglin kept asking.

“No.” Celebrimbor shook his head with a laugh and examined the different tools, which Maeglin had forged for him while the dark-eyed nér tapped his foot impatiently.

“But you were lonely - you said it yourself.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I invited you to stay.” Celebrimbor disagreed, raising a narrow file in front of his eyes to see it better.

“Why then?” Lómion stepped forward, clasped Celebrimbor’s hand and moved it out of the way so that Tyelpe could meet his gaze.

“Have you considered that I may have done it because you are so handsome?” Celebrimbor only half-joked but they both laughed.

“Oh, very funny, Tyelpe!” Maeglin rolled his eyes.

“You don’t believe me?” Celebrimbor took a step closer until the box was pressed between their chests. Lómion raised one dark eyebrow with a quirk in his mouth. His hand didn't release Tyelpe’s.

“Forgive me if I find that story a little hard to believe. My looks have never earned me any favours in the past.” Lómion stated.

“I find _that_ hard to believe, even if I know how stubborn and discriminative people can be when they think they have cause to fear someone.” Tyelpe argued.

“It’s the truth.” Maeglin’s eyelids lowered slightly. “But really, what’s the reason you trusted me? Tell me the truth and I’ll tell you why I came to you, if you care to know.”

That caught Celebrimbor’s attention. He had never dwelt upon Maeglin’s reasons to seek him out, however if there was more to the story, he really wanted to know.

“I saw a reflection of my grief in you.” Celebrimbor admitted truthfully. “It was painfully obvious that your heart was broken, as mine had been. I thought that we could help each other out and heal together. I don’t know about you, but in your presence I felt better entirely.”

“I did too.” Lómion said a little breathlessly, his eyes glassy with emotion. “And I came to you because Nienna told me to find you.”

“Nienna?” Celebrimbor’s blinked in surprise.

“Yes. You must be one of her favorites, do you know?” Maeglin laughed bitterly. “She talked a lot about you when we met in the halls.”

“And here I thought I was one of Aule’s.” Celebrimbor sighed in mock-disappointment, while a little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I think she considers you a case study for her success.” Lómion joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. “She may have thought that I had a thing or two to learn from you.”

“You know I’m always happy to teach you anything you wish to know.” Celebrimbor offered.

“Yes, I know you fancy yourself a master in every field that I ask a question about.” Maeglin chuckled, pushing his chest against the box between them a little, until it dug into Celebrimbor’s.

Tyelpe bit his lower lip and leaned into the small space between them, wishing that Lómion would somehow understand how much he craved a kiss and how he hoped that Maeglin would feel the same.

“We should probably get back, or they will start to wonder where we are.” Lómion advised after a long moment of staring into Tyelperinquar’s eyes.

Celebrimbor set aside the box on a table beside him and tugged Maeglin into an embrace. He held him tighter and for longer than was acceptable, fighting with himself to finally let go.

“What was that about?” Maeglin blinked rapidly once he was released, his face blushing darkly in the lamplight.

“Nothing in particular.” Celebrimbor shrugged and stepped back. “Thank you for the tools - I will take a proper look at them after the guests leave.”

…

Of course, not all days were as wonderful as the rest. Sometimes an elf would turn up with no intention to look at the jewelry, but every intention to cause trouble.

“The last time I saw you, you were tied to Sauron’s banner.” One such customer said to Tyelpe and quickly found himself dragged out by the collar and thrown on the sidewalk.

“Good job.” Maeglin patted Celebrimbor's back once the smith got back behind the counter, shaking a little with suppressed anger.

The rest of the customers in the shop were in various degrees of shock, but while a few left, those who stayed were polite and respectful.

One or two such elves came to harass Lómion too, and were handled rather unceremoniously as well. Soon the whole city knew that they just couldn’t mess with the owners of The Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands Shop and most of the unpleasantness stopped for good.

…

“Is this the hopeful bachelor’s shop?” A Silvan nis asked Tyelpe on an early Sunday morning when the Feanorian was working behind the counter. There weren’t any other clients around and so the nér was manning the floor all by himself.

“Yes, it is.” Celebrimbor smiled, resisting the urge to point at the large letters stating the shop’s name just above his head or the embroidery on his apron.

“So, where can I meet that bachelor?” She asked nervously.

Celebrimbor blinked at her uncomprehendingly, eyes running over her travelling attire and her slightly dishevelled and worn-out looks.

“Well, first and foremost here we sell jewelry, but if you came to meet a bachelor, you won’t be disappointed.” He spoke tentatively, watching her face light up as he guessed her intent rightly. “Just one moment, please.”

Heart beating fast in excitement, Celebrimbor stepped around the corner in the back, and hidden from view, took a long breath to collect himself. He could hardly believe that their side-plan to meet unmarried elves had actually worked! An elleth had come all the way to their shop to meet them…

While setting up the store, Tyelpe and Maeglin had talked a lot, mostly just in jest, about how they would handle potential mates if such ever came into their shop. Of course, once the Wedding Bands opened, the two smiths found themselves so overran by work that chatting up customers didn't even cross their minds. However, they did have an established plan of action, which was, Lómion got to speak first to any single elleth, and Celebrimbor got to get the first go at the ellons, since that was their order of preferences. That's why, Tyelpe hurried to call Lómion over, but as the Feanorian excitedly begun taking the steps a few at a time, a sudden realisation made him come to an abrupt stop.

Celebrimbor was halfway up the stairs when the idea of Maeglin actually liking that elleth made his heart sink like a stone. However, pushing himself onward with little remaining enthusiasm, Tyelperinquar finished the accent to the residential floor and went to knock on Lómion’s door.

It was true that Celebrimbor would have preferred if Maeglin ended up choosing him, but since that seemed less and less likely as time passed and their relationship remained mostly just that of best friends, the Feanorian didn’t want Lómion to be equally miserable. If the beautiful dark-eyed elf could be content somewhere else, then Tyelpe wished him all the best and wasn’t going to obstruct his happiness in any way.

With a deep sigh, Celebrimbor knocked on Lómion’s door and steeled himself for what was to come.

“Come in!” Tyelpe heard the call from inside.

“No, you come out!” He called back. “Someone’s downstairs to meet you.”

“What do you mean?” Maeglin opened the door from inside.

“A nis has come to meet the hopeful bachelors.” Tyelpe said with forced humour. “She’s downstairs and I came to get you, as we agreed.”

Lómion’s eyes widened.

“You are joking, right?” He uttered.

“Come and see for yourself.” Celebrimbor smirked and hoped that it had no tinge of sadness in it. Maeglin seemed too surprised to notice either way.

“I’ll be right down and if you are playing with me, I’m going to get you for it!” Lómion said, shutting himself back inside, presumably to get presentable.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor went downstairs and invited the elleth to sit on a bench in the garden.

“Would you like some tea, Lady…?” He asked.

“Just Lalvien.” She smiled sheepishly, looking embarrassed by the formality. “And water would be better.”

Celebrimbor nodded and just as he headed to the kitchens he bumped into a flustered Lómion who hurried down the steps.

“Her name is Lalvien and she’s of the returned.” Celebrimbor filled him in quickly. “She’s in the courtyard and I’m going to get her some water and will be right back.”

“Alright.” Maeglin sucked in a deep breath and hurried down.

Celebrimbor took a while with the water, having to fight a battle with his rebelling heart and churning stomach, until the tray had been populated by not just a water jug, but also tea, biscuits and small fruits. Once he finally gathered himself enough to go back to the garden, he saw Lalvien sitting rather awkwardly alone.

As he approached slowly, wondering what to say, Camaendir, one of the jewelsmiths who had worked for them for a couple of months appeared, accompanied by Lómion.

“This is Lalvien,” Maeglin started to introduce them. “Lalvien, this is Camaendir, one of our finest masters here, who is also a bachelor. He was born a Noldo, but was orphaned and raised by a group of Silvan refugees during the end of the First Age. I think you would have a lot to talk about.”

The elleth’s eyes brightened when they fell on the dishevelled craftsman, who ran a grease-smeared hand through his braided hair shyly.

“A pleasure to meet you, my Lady.” Camaendir bowed and Lalvien laughed.

As discreetly as he could, Celebrimbor set down the tray beside them and exchanging a look with Lómion, left without interrupting the budding conversation between the two others.

“Do you mind telling me how it went?” Tyelperinquar asked as soon as they returned to the shopfront together.

“Well, in not so many words, I told her that you and I are the hopeful bachelors in question, and she asked if there was anyone else.” Maeglin sighed. “So I remembered that Camaendir said he decided to apply because he thought everyone who worked here was unmarried and desperately looking, so I thought I should call him down to meet her.”

“That was a good idea.” Celebrimbor nodded. “I think she liked him.”

“I hope so.” Maeglin said. “It would be a nice thing if it happens.”

“Are you disappointed?” Celebrimbor couldn’t help but ask.

“A little, as you are, I’m sure.” Lómion shrugged. “However there will be others. If she came that means word has gotten around. It’s only a matter of time.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this instalment! You might have noticed that I now know how many chapters there will be in total, fifteen to be precise :D Might add an epilogue to that, if I don't manage to fit the plot. But once again, sorry for the frustration of this chapter - there will be a resolution and a happy ending - we are steadily approaching that point.
> 
> Next chapter: Tyelpe and Lómion journey out through Aman...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celebrimbor and Maeglin have a really good time on their way to Lórien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The geography this chapter follows is from this map of Arda: http://i.imgur.com/W59b0.jpg
> 
> A note for those new to Tolkien nerdism, Lórien is also known as Irmo's Gardens, so the names are interchangable in this chapter.

“This can’t go on!” Maeglin ranted in an uncharacteristic loss of temper.

Lately he had turned into a ball of unstable energy, buzzing quietly and spiking at odd times, acting unpredictable and oddly emotional.

Tyelpe thought he guessed the reason for these outbursts, but for his part remained relatively calm, cutting a sparkling aquamarine with a concentrated look on his face. His eyes remained on the stone, but he needed little to no concentration to replicate the familiar rose-pattern on the gem and his attention was almost fully on the other smith’s nervous pacing around the workshop.

“I guess you can say that the joke's on us.” He drawled with minimal movement of his jaw. Despite the familiarity of the task he couldn’t afford a tremor in his body - he kept his shoulders and his hands perfectly steady as he exercised his craft.

“Ha ha.” Lómion ran his fingers through his unbound hair and stopped by the window, leaning a hand on the frame as he observed the courtyard below. “I can’t believe this.”

Celebrimbor finished the last few cuts on the aquamarine, picked up the gem and walked over to his friend. Standing just behind him, he leaned his chin on Maeglin’s shoulder and looked outside. 

The sight that greeted him was one he was getting accustomed to, but still didn’t fail to astonish him. Their garden was teaming with elves, from all corners of Eldamar, dressed and groomed to their finest, currently very busy with mingling together.

Predominantly, there were the dark heads of the Noldor, braided into intricate styles, plaits glistening with more jewelry than the rest wore on their entire beings. The Vanyar’s golden hair was usually loose, as were their gossamer robes, woven from silks as intricate as spiderwebs and as multicoloured and pure as rainbows in spring mists. There were also the Teleri with their silver hair and the blues of their attire, the Sindar with their woodland browns and greens, the few returned Avari…

“What do you think?” Celebrimbor circling his arm around Maeglin to show him the gemstone in his opened palm.

Lómion teared his gaze away from the overcrowded courtyard to look at the aquamarine briefly and then at the elf behind his shoulder.

“It’s beautiful, Tyelpe.” He said but his smile was sad and his gaze loaded.

“Don’t despair yet!” Celebrimbor urged and wrapped his arms around his friend. Lómion heaved a sigh and leaned into the embrace.

“And when should I despair then?” Maeglin shook his head. “I don’t even think I own that courtyard anymore - look at it! Look at all these people! It’s like all of Valinor’s singles are here! And when is this going to stop?!”

“Look, I know it stings a little that the plan backfired so spectacularly, but it’s not all that bad.” Celebrimbor reassured him. When they had named their shop The Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands they had thought that a few unmarried elves might get the hint, but they had never expected crowds to turn up every single day, and that none of them would be interested in meeting them - finding instead plenty of other unmarried elves to socialise with in the notorious smiths’ garden.

“At least our shop is selling lots of wedding rings. It's good for business.” Tyelpe added.

“I love your optimism.” Lómion laughed and turned around in his embrace.

 _‘And I love you.’_ Celebrimbor thought but managed not to say, despite how compelling it felt in that moment, with Lomion’s beautiful black eyes focused solely on him.

The moment dragged and the longer the silence stretched, the more difficult it became to keep his mouth shut. Gathering his resolve, Tyelpe took in a deep breath and prepared to finally confess his feelings, but in the same moment Maeglin spoke:

“I've been thinking-”

“Lómion, I-”

Awkwardly each of them broke off. Celebrimbor recovered quicker:

“You go first.” He offered and Maeglin smoothed down his black tresses behind his ears nervously.

“I was wondering if you want to go visit your mother?” Lomion asked and Tyelpe looked up curiously.

“I have been thinking about that too.” He admitted. “It’s just that there wasn’t any time and I’ve been putting it off.”

“Now seems like a good time.” Lomion urged. “And I think we could both do with a break. We’ve been working non-stop for months.”

“Now?” Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow.

“They can manage without us.” Maeglin proposed. “I could even ask Mother to come manage while we are away. I’m sure she will be thrilled.”

Tyelpe chuckled. He was certain Aredhel would love to be the boss in their absence. She had the personality for it.

“Alright.” He agreed, feeling a little thrill of getting whisked away. He did need the vacation, and he had wished to reunite with his own mother since he had heard of her whereabouts.

“Great.” Lómion nodded, stepping out of Celebrimbor’s loose embrace. “I will ride to ask Aredhel.”

“When do you want to go?” Tyelpe called after him as Maeglin made his way out of the workshop.

“Tomorrow?” Lómion paused by the door.

“Sounds good.” Celebrimbor smiled carefully, feeling a warm feeling of anticipation building in his chest. Maeglin returned the smile shyly before disappearing into the hallway.

Left alone, Tyelpe couldn’t help but wonder about Maeglin’s strangely impulsive proposal. In the end, he decided that there was little use second-guessing or over-thinking. He supposed the months of exertion had finally frayed Lómion’s nerves and that after their little vacation things were going to go back to normal.

…

The next day they set off to the furthest regions of Aman. On the western edge of that vast country were Irmo’s gardens, a place where the most badly damaged of elves went to seek healing.

Put into consideration, it wasn’t the most cheerful destination. However, the idea of meeting his mother, who was said to tend to the sleepers there, was a thought both uplifting and hope-inspiring for Celebrimbor.

He wondered what she’d be like and tried to recall the faint memories he had of her from a childhood that was literally millennia ago. Those thoughts kept him up through most of the night, as did vague dreams of what travelling with Lómion alone would be like. He looked forward to both.

Before leaving on the next day, they ate breakfast in Turgon’s house. Aredhel hugged each of them and asked Tyelpe to send her regards to his mother. Then they headed to the stables where they received two beautiful, well-behaved steeds for the journey.

“Lord Maeglin!” A hostler approached as the dark-eyed nér loaded his provisions on one of the horses. “I don’t suppose you remember me, but I was here when you took Lord Turukáno’s steed and set off to where you went last year.”

Lomion’s look was perplexed and a little alarmed as he turned to the stableman.

“I never took _Turgon’s horse_.” The taller Noldo bridled, puffing his shoulders in defense. “I have borrowed from Turgon’s horses at the Lord’s leave. Are you insinuating otherwise?”

Tyelperinquar stopped his own chore and turned to the argument, prepared to step in if it escalated in either way.

“You did, Lord!” The hostler insisted, impossibly ignorant of Lómion’ agitation. “Sparklehoof his name was! You took him and never got him back. He was the Lord’s very own. I merely hope nothing bad happened to him, since he was my favourite animal here.”

“Sparklehoof?” Maeglin sounded disbelieving. “You can’t be talking about _that_ Sparklehoof!?”

The hostler nodded repeatedly and Lómion went on: “That bad-tempered, arrogant, evil horse was Turgon’s steed?”

“He did seem to favour only our Lord Turukáno and never let anyone else ride him, except for you, Lord.” The stableman confirmed.

Maeglin’s eyes slid to Celebrimbor who huffed a laugh and shook his head, returning to loading baggage on his steed, while Lómion explained to the heart-broken hostler that Sparklehoof was now a free horse and that there was no telling where he was and whether he’d ever come back.

…

They rode off from Tirion on the same late morning and the weather was absolutely beautiful, a late-summer day with warm wind playing in their dark hair and a bright blue sky uplifting their spirits as well.

“Race me!” Tyelpe challenged, spurring his horse to a gallop before Maeglin had time to react and laughed delightedly when he heard the other elf cursing as he urged his steed after him.

They raced over the paved road, Celebrimbor leading and barely catching his breath from laughing, until Lómion stirred his horse off the path and cut through a copse, momentarily disappearing from the other smith’s eyes. Suddenly he reappeared on the road in front of him.

“Not fair!” Tyelpe shouted, spurring his horse to go faster.

“You cheated first!” Maeglin shouted over his shoulder. And then added: “Whoever gets to that sign-post wins!”

Tyelpe saw the crossing in question - it wasn’t very far and he was likely to lose. On a wild impulse, he unbuckled his baggage and threw it off the horse, unloading a considerable weight from the animal and helping it go faster.

Quickly he gained on Maeglin and as he overtook him, he heard the other elf curse again.

Tyelpe got to the sign-post first and shouted in triumph.

“I demand a rematch!” Lómion announced breathlessly as he too came to a stop. Despite the feigned indignation, he was grinning widely and there was humor in his eyes.

“You want to get beaten again?” Celebrimbor cajoled.

“We will see who will win if we set the rules _before_ the race.” Maeglin stressed. “And you might want to return for your baggage. I hope you had nothing fragile in there.”

“Even if I did, it was worth it.” Celebrimbor flashed him a smile.

“Why? Do you like seeing me beaten?” Lómion asked and there was something guarded in his eyes.

“No, but I like seeing you smile.” Tyelpe said truthfully and spurred his horse back, eager to collect his things before they got trampled over by another horse.

…

They stayed in inns for the first two weeks of their journey and then gathered as many provisions as their horses could carry in order to last them to their destination, which was beyond any Elven settlement on the map. Of course, Elven encampments sprang up everywhere and new villages were founded constantly by the returned, so there was a high chance that the Noldor could meet more people along the way, however they preferred to be prepared.

The mountains in the middle of Aman were conveniently shaped with a vast and temperate valley piercing the middle of the range. It acted as a pass for those who needed to travel from one side of the continent to the other. The foothills of the towering peaks were covered in forests, which turned from the brighter greens of oak, ash and beech to the darker ones of fir and pine.

A wide river ran through the dale and Celebrimbor and Maeglin followed a path, which flanked it, riding under the shade of the trees during the day, but never too far from the water to cease hearing its cheerful chime.

When the first night outdoors came, it was balmy and windless, a little warmer than the nights in Celebrimbor’s cottage had been. The day’s travel had been easy, riding on even ground, and the weather was so good, that neither elf felt tired. If their horses didn’t need rest, the two ellons could have happily journeyed on through the night under the clear starry sky, but since the animals carried their baggage they deserved a break.

Lómion and Tyelperinquar stayed up, talking and telling stories until the moon had set. And then, when the sky darkened and the millions of stars shone even brighter away from any other lights to compete with, Celebrimbor said:

“On such a fine night I can’t bare to blink, least of all drift off to sleep. Do you know what I really want to do?”

“What?” Maeglin asked biting the corner of his mouth with a wishful look in his eyes.

“I feel like taking a dip into that river.” Celebrimbor said standing up. “Want to come?”

Lómion chewed on his lower lip, looking up at him through his long dark eyelashes.

“Certainly.” He agreed easily.

…

The two elves walked through the spinney that surrounded the bubbling river. When they reached the shore, they begun undressing under the thick shadows of a willow tree. As usual, they didn’t look at each other before they were waist-deep in the cool water but once in the river, they turned and splashed currents like children and giggled accordingly.

In a fit of laughter, Maeglin tripped on a rock and suddenly sunk. He resurfaced to his chest and chuckled some more, but Celebrimbor suddenly remembered that rivers could be dangerous even to experienced swimmers. The waters in Aman were benevolent and under the power of Ulmo, however accidents could happen, especially at night.

“Can you swim?” He inquired.

“No. Can you?” Lómion responded, threading the water to get closer to Celebrimbor.

“Of course.” The feanorian nodded.

“Where did you learn?” Maeglin asked.

“My father taught me on lake Mithrim.” Tyelpe recalled. “I think he was afraid that I might drown if he didn’t instruct me first.”

“There were never any lakes or rivers for me to drown in, so nobody taught me.” Lómion confided.

“Do you want me to teach you?” Celebrimbor asked heedlessly before realising just how close he'd have to get to Maeglin's naked body in order to help him learn.

“Yes. I’d like that.” Lómion said softly and threaded even closer to him. “So, how do I start?”

Lómion stopped when he was but a pace away from Tyelpe, facing him directly with water to his ribs. His long black hair was dripping wet over his broad shoulders, making his pale skin glisten with tiny starlit droplets as they ran down his toned muscles. Celebrimbor’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of him so beautiful and standing thus close. Maeglin’s eyes were on him and they shined just like that black opal, which the elf still wore on his finger.

“I… I don’t know... if I can do this.” Celebrimbor uttered breathlessly, his thoughts scattering like drops of quicksilver, his eyes and heart too overwhelmed by what was before him to form a coherent statement. The play of starlight over the rippling water around them cast shadows and pale highlights over Lómion's handsome features. The overall effect was too lovely to look upon and remain unaffected. To top it all, Maeglin had an expectant expression on his face and it was just too much - way more than enough to break even Tyelpe's steely resolve against crossing the line.

Lómion didn’t ask him what he meant by that, he merely waited, holding a breath and parting his lips slightly. His eyes flickered somewhere below Tyelpe's nose and the feanorian could hold back no longer. He reached for Maeglin’s face, cupping his jaw to keep him steady and stepped closer, kissing the lips he had dreamed of for so long.

The second he pressed against their soft sweetness sent a shock-wave of pleasure and anxiety through his entire system, satisfaction mingling with fear that he had done something irreversible, until the next moment, when Lómion's answering tug on his neck and shoulders crushed their mouths firmly against each other and straight out electrified him. For a moment Tyelpe couldn’t quite comprehend that Maeglin was answering his kiss and doing so with unprecedented passion, yanking and pulling on him as if he was trying to merge their mouths together.

Lómion's unrelenting kisses were tinged with teeth and sensing his need, Celebrimbor parted his lips, allowing the other nér to deepen the kiss. Maeglin made an agonised noise, which sounded halfway between a moan and a growl, launching himself in Celebrimbor’s arms and knocking the already off-balanced elf into the water. They sunk under the chest-deep current and for a while Celebrimbor didn’t care, letting Lómion ravage his mouth as they dropped to the bottom together. Maeglin's hands knotted in his hair, and their legs intertwined, seeking purchase and friction against each other until the need to breathe forced them to scramble to their feet.

Resurfacing and panting hard, Celebrimbor blinked the moisture away from his eyes and looked for Maeglin, who was doing the same and coughing out water, which he had swallowed in the urgency of their kiss.

“Tyelpe-” Lómion begun as Celebrimbor’s hand clasped the nape of his neck and lead him in for another breathless kiss. He just couldn’t get enough of it - he was already aroused and he had felt Maeglin’s answering need when their bodies had touched underwater.

“Tyelpe, I am sorry-” Maeglin continued and it gave Celebrimbor pause.

“For what?” He asked, trembling with suppressed desire. He needed to continue what they were doing, but the fact that Lómion was apologising didn’t bode well and sent cold stabs of fear straight through him. He prayed that Maeglin wasn't planning on breaking his heart after the moments they had just shared.

“I don’t want you to think less of me.” Lómion responded desperately, hands threading through Celebrimbor’s hair again and catching on the kinks, which they had left there. The look in his eyes was truly devastated. “Please don’t think that this is all I want of you, because it’s not true. You are really important to me and I'd give up on it instantly if our friendship is at stake...”

“What? How would I think less of you? What are you saying, Lómion, why would you think that?” Celebrimbor shook his head disbelievingly. He pulled Maeglin closer to him until his wet skin was sliding against the other elf's own. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?” He asked in a lower tone, which he hoped sounded seductive.

“I just can’t believe this is real.” Maeglin huffed a self-deprecating laugh, the colour on his cheeks darkening. “I feel like you are about to tell me off for touching you any moment now.”

“Tell you off!?” Celebrimbor blinked in astonishment. “Lómion, I’m over the moon with joy! Don’t you know I’ve wanted this for a while?”

“I couldn't be sure.” Maeglin admitted. “But I'm glad you say that, because I wanted this for a long time as well.” He added, making Celebrimbor’s heart flutter and moisture rise to his eyes. He too was having trouble believing the words he heard, but it was getting easier with each passing moment.

“If that’s the case-” Celebrimbor cut himself off and tried to think of something to finish his sentence with that didn’t consist of _‘can we stop pretending to look for somebody else and just marry each other, please?’ _Instead he said: “Do you want me to prove it to you?”__

Maeglin’s eyes zeroed on his.

“Yes.” He breathed. “Yes, prove it to me!”

Celebrimbor could hardly contain his delight at being given such a pleasurable assignment. He tugged Lómion along to the shallower waters and sat on the bottom, pulling the other nér into his lap. Maeglin’s knees dug into the soft river sand on either side of him and rocked his hips over Celebrimbor’s making both of them gasp as their stiff lengths brushed together. At least that part of his friend had no doubts about what it wanted, Tyelpe surmised with a smirk.

“How much proof do you need exactly?” He asked, hoping that Maeglin would get the hint.

The other Noldo bit his lower lip and took Celebrimbor’s hand, bringing it to the flat of his stomach.

Tyelpe smiled, understanding immediately and trailed his fingers over Lómion's sensitive abdomen until they dipped under the shallow water and brushed against the velvety skin of his hardness. Breathlessly he gripped it, feeling its length and girth for the first time, stomach fluttering in arousal. Lómion groaned and threw his head back, arching in his lap gorgeously.

Celebrimbor pulled him closer until his mouth could work over the paler elf's chest, kissing his way up to his collar and trailing his tongue over the tightening muscles he found there. He dipped down to tease a nipple with his teeth, making Maeglin cry out and his manhood jolt in Celebrimbor's slowly pumping palm.

“Fuck, Tyelpe!” Lómion cursed, making the feanorian snicker. “Fuck, oh…”

Maeglin continued hissing a string of curses under his breath, almost unintelligibly, but Tyelpe didn’t need to hear it clearly to understand the effect he was having on the other ellon.

He sped up the rhythm on Lómion’s shaft, eliciting more cries of pleasure, until Maeglin’s hand fervently snaked it’s way between them and gripped Celebrimbor's manhood in return. This time it was Tyelpe's turn to yell in pleasure, digging his toes into the sand and spreading his thighs a little to give Lómion more access to wrap his fingers around the whole of him. The other smith’s capable hand set an unrelenting rhythm on him, pumping him hard and fast, as if trying to see if Tyelpe could last, or perhaps jerking him off in the way he needed to be touched.

After a few seconds of that intense friction, Maeglin’s hand left him alone, but only to guide Celebrimbor’s fingers to take their erections together and then close over them, setting the same fast rhythm as before. Tyelpe complied, allowing Lómion to move his hand up and down over their lengths at a frantic pace. Lómion's breaths were coming out as short, ragged pants, he was obviously nearing his edge and in his passion he squeezed the back of Tyelperinquar’s neck, kissing him with tongue and teeth, hips thrusting against his own. Tyelpe could hardly believe that this was the same usually reserved Maeglin, whom he had thought he had already come to know. There was fire beneath his cool exterior, which Celebrimbor could never have imagined.

The combined effect of Maeglin’s startling desire and the beautiful mess he presented in that moment, with his hair all wet and tousled and the wild look of rapture on his face, eyes closed and brows drawn together in near agony, made Celebrimbor nearly fall back into the water as his orgasm hit him hard. He screamed, arching and rocking back and forth with Lómion in his lap, the only thing anchoring him from rolling back into the river. His sudden shout triggered Maeglin's own release and throwing his arms around Tyelpe’s shoulders, he came with a series of broken cries, clutching the other elf tightly, scratching marks into the skin of his back.

Once it was over, Tyelpe needed to lie down, so he dragged Lómion along to the shore and sprawled under a willow tree. Maeglin remained sitting, propped up on one arm and looking into the distance, still catching his breath. Tyelpe pushed himself to his elbows after a while.

“Are you convinced now?” He asked.

Lómion looked at him for a moment and then crawled over him, pressing him back down into the grass with a passionate kiss.

“A little.” He said when he pulled away.

“Will you marry me one day?” Celebrimbor couldn't help but ask as they slowly made to stand up.

“You _want_ to marry _me_?” Maeglin sounded genuinely surprised.

Tyelpe grit his teeth and stepped from foot to foot. He felt lightheaded and fulfilled in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, but Lómion's questions still managed to pierce him to his very core.

“I don’t see why not.” He answered warily.

Maeglin looked down and when he looked up his eyes were unreadable.

“I think I would like that.” He said finally. “But first, there is something I need to find out. There is another reason why I suggested this trip, besides seeing your mother.”

“Did you want to speak with Nienna again?” Tyelpe guessed, knowing that her kingdom was not far from Lórien.

“Yes.” Lómion admitted, looking apologetic. “It’s just something that she said. I want to know if I’ve understood her right.”

Celebrimbor fancied that he had an idea what manner of questions still plagued Maeglin, making it so difficult to just chose the happiness that was so clearly in front of him. But he wasn’t presumptuous enough to start giving Lómion advice without being asked. It was better to wait and let the other elf make his own choice. At least Tyelpe had something to go on in the time in between. A very solid piece of evidence that his case wasn’t completely hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 3 more chapters to go and I'm excited about the grand finale, which you might guess is going to be... if you can't guess then I'm not ruining it from you :D  
> Please don't forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> Next chapter: A family reunion + Maeglin gets pep-talk by one of the Valar (because he needs that level of encouragement).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tyelpe reunites with his mother and Lomion gets the least reassuring pep-talk of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys, December kind of just happened and has been all over the place...  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I finally managed to finish it thanks to the Christmas holidays :D And, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it! To the rest - I hope you get presents anyway :D Just be careful who gives them, don't trust no Lord of Gifts!

They traveled for another week and a half, turning south once they left the valley behind and skirting the western foothills of the great mountains, which split Aman in half. The trip was easy and pleasant, the weather was cheerful, the scenery - beautiful. Untouched hills and rivers stretched on both sides as far as their eyes could see and the sun was warm, but not hot enough to burn, especially since the two néri walked under the shaded cool of small forests and near refreshing, bubbling streams.

Better than the days were the nights, since Tyelpe returned to Lómion’s arms each time, despite the dark-eyed elf’s initial fear that the Feanorian might quickly lose interest or change his mind. On more than one occasion Maeglin desperately wished to seal the deal with Celebrimbor and go all the way. However, as tempting as that was, he somehow managed not to wed Tyelpe in the cushions of tall grass or against the trunk of an ancient tree, as both of them wished so very badly to do. It had to be enough that with every kiss and every touch of hands against naked skin, Lómion was willing to further believe that whatever was happening was not born solely out of Tyelpe’s pity for him, or a misguided sense of charity.

For all the world, it felt as if Celebrimbor wanted the same as him, in the same way. And every night when they stopped to rest and lied together, Tyelpe’s lips made soundless promises against Lómion’s skin, ones which the dark-eyed elf yearned to trust and answered in kind with kisses and licks of his own, exploring secret places, which he had never even dared to imagine sharing with another elf.

The way Tyelpe intertwined their fingers together as he pulled Lómion closer, the way he pressed against him in desperation and mouthed vows of love against his throat - it pushed the dark-eyed ellon over the edge faster than even Celebrimbor’s clever hands could manage. Tyelpe learned quickly what he liked and was just as prompt to apply it in the exact way to make Maeglin keen into the night, bite his fist with shame to stop the sounds he made, only to have Tyelpe kiss the corner of his lips and swallow the noise with his mouth.

Lómion wanted to be loved, he yearned to trust, but a constant fear of abandonment and disappointment always plagued him and ruined the moments afterwards when Celebrimbor usually slept soundly, while Lómion stared into the darkness of the sky and wondered when the other foot would drop.

Because despite everything he saw and felt, Maeglin couldn’t truly trust Tyelpe not to hurt him. And despite trying to work up the courage to raise the topic of his thoughts with his beloved and ask him for a verbal reassurance of his feelings, every time Lómion tried to speak of it his voice would fail and his heart would rebel against the answer he expected to receive.

 _‘Just a little bit longer.’_ Maeglin told himself. _‘Let me believe in this for just a little bit longer…’_

A small voice in the back of Lómion’s mind was always there to remind him that he was unlovable and that Celebrimbor would eventually despise him. But believing was a bittersweet indulgence, one that brought as much sorrow as electrifying happiness and madness. 

And that was the reason why he needed to speak with Nienna. She had been very cryptic when sending him to Celebrimbor. Time and time again, Maeglin replayed the hazy memory of their conversation in the Halls. Words had not existed there, only notions, and it was very difficult to recall exactly how she had phrased her proposal to him:

_‘Go see Tyelperinquar. He would have knowledge to bring healing to your heart wounded by love.’_

Or had it been:

_‘Go seek Tyelperinquar. His heart would know how to heal your wounds of love.’_

Or even:

_‘Go be with Tyelperinquar. He knows he would heal by loving your wounded heart.’_

Perhaps it had been something else entirely. And that’s what Maeglin needed to find out. Because, if he had misunderstood her, if he had fallen for someone who could not love him, if he was to be heartbroken again-

He preferred to know the truth before it was too late. He could still salvage the broken remains of his scarred heart and go on without Tyelpe if need be. Somehow.

As long as he knew in advance, as long as he still had the chance to stop before it was too late, Maeglin could survive it. Or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself.

…

The gardens of Lórien were situated in the south of Aman, where the temperatures were warmer and vegetation bloomed more richly than Valmar. Gardens was a loose term, since the hazy land, which Maeglin and Celebrimbor approached appeared more like a forest, except that it had a gate and alleys disappearing into the trees beyond.

As they slowly rode over the widening road, which lead to the pale stones of the entrance, the néri spotted two Maiar standing by the tall pillars. One was conversing with a lonely elf. While the smiths observed from a distance, the desolate elf was admitted into Lórien and lead forth by one of the Maiar, who guarded the gates.

“It seems that Irmo never goes out of business.” Maeglin noted, watching the unfolding scene solemnly.

Celebrimbor nodded, but did not say anything.

Slowly they stirred their horses to Lórien’s entrance where one Maia still remained, observing their approach with gentle attention.

“Aya!” Celebrimbor greeted once they were close enough to converse without shouting. The gardens beyond looked peaceful but disconcerting in their quiet, drowsy stillness. One got the feeling that if they walked into them they would fall asleep and possibly never wake again.

“Hail, children of Finwe! What brings you to Irmo’s realm?” The Maia asked.

“We have come here to...” Celebrimbor’s voice faltered. Maeglin watched his friend struggle and it suddenly occurred to him that asking after the missing mother, whom Tyelpe hadn’t seen in millennia, must have been more nerve-wrecking than the other smith had let on.

Just as Lómion opened his mouth to speak, Celebrimbor continued, but his words surprised the dark-eyed elf as much as the Maia at the gate:

“We came to tell you that we have organised a sort-of-club for lonely elves.” Celebrimbor told the guardian, making Maeglin blink in incomprehension. “It’s called The Hopeful Bachelor’s and it’s located in our jewelry shop’s courtyard. We were wondering if any of the souls resting here would like to give life another shot and come meet someone to fall in love with?”

The Maia’s face was completely impassive. Like the Valar, Maiar had to put conscious effort into communicating their thoughts and emotions through body language. That one seemed so stunned by Celebrimbor’s statement, that they didn’t remember to react in any way. The same could be said about Lómion, who was frozen in place with his mouth hanging opened.

“That is an odd circumstance.” Irmo’s Maia found their voice finally. “I am afraid I don’t have an answer to that.”

“Could you find out perhaps?” Celebrimbor asked and the Maia frowned deeply.

“We do not trouble our sleepers to ask them needless questions.” The Maia said, their tone becoming sterner.

“Well, if not the ones already asleep, how about the elves who only just arrive?” Celebrimbor insisted. “Maybe you can tell them about our club and let them consider it before they enter Lórien?”

The Maia narrowed their eyes and tilted their proud chin up.

“I will relay your missive to Lord Irmo.”

“Alright.” Celebrimbor nodded and his horse made back as if sensing the end of the conversation. “Thank you for your time.”

“Wait, there is something else as well!” Maeglin raised his voice and fixed his friend a glare.

The Maia looked between them dubiously.

Celebrimbor was staring at the ground, an uncertain frown on his handsome face. Once again  Lómion thought that he would have to do the asking, but Tyelpe gathered his courage and spoke:

“There is one of Irmo’s tenders, whom I have come to seek. Her name is Marillindien*. Is it possible to meet her?”

Maeglin found himself holding a breath as the Maia stayed expressionless and silent for a while. Finally they said:

“I could take you to her, but the journey into Lórien would be incredibly tiring for you. It’s best if she comes out to see you. I would send for her, but I cannot guarantee that she would come. Most of the tenders have reasons for pledging their service to Irmo and have not left Lórien since they have first stepped foot into it.”

“Alright, we'll wait.” Celebrimbor smiled slightly, a tiny but hopeful smile.

...

And so they waited, making camp on the verge of Lórien, slightly away from the main road upon which more and more elves kept appearing, all expressionless and worn down by sorrow, with the light in their once colourful eyes all but depleted.

The two smiths observed the unhappy processions from the side, able to spot the slow shuffling of feet from miles away and tracing the approach of the tired elves all the way to Lórien’s gates.

Night came but neither of them was in the mood for intimacy or even rest. They sat watching the gates and the small lights which hung like balls of luminous energy above the heads of the two Maiar, who stood watch.

“Do you think they are passing our invitation along?” Celebrimbor asked softly, startling Maeglin from his troubled contemplation.

“I doubt it.” Lómion admitted, watching yet another elf being lead into Lórien, the ball of light, which hung over the Maia accompanying her, disappearing beneath the shadows of the lush trees. “I haven’t seen anyone hesitate or pause to consider before going in.”

Celebrimbor nodded gravely.

“Perhaps we should go stand by the road and talk to them before they get to the gates.” He proposed.

“Let’s first make sure we don’t miss your mother emerging from Lórien. Later we could try.” Maeglin reasoned, speaking lightly in an attempt to brighten the mood. It was depressing seeing just how many elves gave up on life in Aman daily.

“Do you reckon many of them suffer as a direct consequence of what I have done to Middle Earth?” Celebrimbor asked very softly, so quietly that Lómion wasn’t certain if he had heard that at all.

However, the look of total desolation in Celebrimbor’s downcast eyes confirmed it and Maeglin turned to his friend disbelievingly:

“Don’t say that, Tyelpe! Don’t ever even think it!” He scolded, keeping his tones low as a whisper, but speaking quickly and passionately: “You have done nothing but try to help Middle Earth! Their choice is not your doing nor your responsibility!”

“No, but what drove them to this choice might be. My attempts to help turned into weapons of our Enemy. It is, after all, my fault.” Celebrimbor spoke to the ground between them and his voice was strained by remorse and shame, emotions which in Lómion’s mind, had no place in Tyelpe’s heart.

Raising himself to his knees, Lómion reached over the scant space between them and wrapped his arms around the other smith tightly. Celebrimbor resisted only for an instant before accepting his friend’s embrace and burying his face into Maeglin’s shoulder. He did not cry, but Maeglin could feel him trembling with the force of the emotions he was trying to suppress.

“You are too good to me.” Tyelpe whispered into Maeglin’s tunic.

“No, I am not _too_ good.” Lómion disagreed. “You deserve to be treated well, because the war was not your fault. You never wanted it and you suffered enough for it. You didn’t have to wash your mistakes with your own blood, but you did it anyway. No one has the right to blame you for what happened after you made the ultimate sacrifice!”

“It was not the _ultimate_ sacrifice…” Celebrimbor breathed into his shoulder. “But even if it was enough, the repercussions of my actions continue to echo through the world. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had not been born, so that I wouldn’t have been used to further the curse of my family.”

Celebrimbor’s voice was breaking and his fingers were burying into Lómion’s shoulders almost painfully, and Maeglin was taken aback by his friend’s words. He had always thought that Tyelpe was almost entirely healed and that such self-destructive thoughts didn’t cross his mind. The realisation that Celebrimbor had also been suffering his own insecurities all along was sobering.

“Don’t ever say this, Tyelpe! If he hadn’t deceived you, he would have found another way!” Maeglin shook his head.

“But it wouldn’t have been this. He wouldn’t have achieved without me what we achieved together. He… told me so.” Celebrimbor finally broke into real weeping and it drove a nail through Lómion’s heart.

He had no doubt that this wasn’t braggery. However, it didn’t do for Celebrimbor to hate himself, just because he had been ill used. And Maeglin knew from experience that no amount of reassurance would help Tyelpe realise that he wasn’t to blame for the ill that had come from his actions. Not in that moment at least. The only thing that could sooth the other smith was a reminder of why he was needed:

“If you had never been born- ” Lómion begun and his voice momentarily caught. He forced himself to continue, because his friend had to hear it, “then I would have never met you, and to imagine my life without you now-”

Celebrimbor’s wrecked inhales quieted down and he looked up, his bright eyes searching Maeglin’s face cautiously.

“It’s unbearable, Tyelpe.” Maeglin finished, his voice trembling from his own, barely disguised emotions. “I mean, what would I do without you? I don’t even want to imagine where I would be if you hadn’t been there to catch me when I was so swiftly falling. What I’m trying to say is - You’re the one I...”

Maeglin realised he was crying, uncontrollably, shamefully, but he just couldn’t hide it any more. He had promised himself not to say it, he had held out even when his flesh was burning and the need to be with Tyelpe had almost driven all caution and reason from his mind. But somehow he had gotten so close to saying it now, and Celebrimbor needed to hear it. What did it matter if it ended up shattering Lómion’s heart? That wasn't so important after all.

“I love you.” Maeglin choked out, and hid his face into his hands. “I love you, so very much. And I’m so very sorry - I shouldn’t be crying while saying this, but-”

He heard Tyelpe’s startled laugh and for a moment he was afraid he was being mocked. His ears were probably embarrassingly red even in the nighttime darkness, and he was berating himself for the stupidity of admitting his feelings - he shouldn’t have done it - What if….

He startled when Tyelpe pulled him into his arms and held him tightly, laughing through his tears and whispered in his ear:

“And I love you too, Lómion. I really do - so much that I think my heart’s going to burst from it.” Celebrimbor said breathlessly and managed to completely derail Maeglin’s mental train of disastrous thinking.

“What?” He asked, pulling away just enough to look at his friend, dark eyes wide and still not believing that he hadn’t somehow misheard.

“I said, I love you!” Tyelpe laughed, raising his voice in what looked like a mixture of glee and nervousness. “Did you hear me now, or should I shout it until I’ve woken the entirety of Lórien?”

“I don’t mind hearing you shout that.” Maeglin uttered breathlessly, foolishly, not knowing what else to say. “Just to be sure that I haven’t fallen into sweet, Lórien-induced dreams...”

He didn’t get to finish, because Tyelpe, pressed forward and captured his mouth.

Lómion allowed the other smith to roll him back into the cloak, which they had spread underneath to protect them from the midnight dew. He parted his lips, letting Celebrimbor deepen the kiss until they ran out of air and had to pause to breathe.

“You are not asleep and I am definitely not a dream.” Tyelpe’s voice was hoarse with desire, the way it got in the midst of urgency. Hearing it so was enough to send thrills of arousal down Maeglin’s spine. “But I will say it again, I love you, Lómion. I have, for a long while.”

“Alright, but, don’t say it like that-” Lómion heaved helplessly, blinking up at Tyelperinquar and holding onto his last threads of resolve. “When you look at me this way, I can barely hold back. And your mother could show up at any minute. Let’s not welcome her in a less than appropriate way!”

The mention of his mother immediately cooled Tyelpe down and he rolled off Maeglin.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to get acquainted with her in such a way.” Celebrimbor agreed with a small laugh.

…

Contrary to their fear, Marillindien, didn’t show up that night, nor the next morning. When at last she appeared it was late afternoon on the second day of their vigil by Lórien and neither of the smiths expected to see her, while hanging their river-washed laundry on the branches of a small tree.

Maeglin’s sharp senses located the approaching nis long before she appeared over the ridge of the small hill on which they camped.

“Someone’s coming.” He whispered and Celebrimbor flung the dripping shirt in his hands on the tree without care of how it landed before turning his attention to the direction that Maeglin was pointing.

“Are you sure?” He answered just as softly.

“Positive.” Maeglin nodded. “An elleth is coming, and if I’m not completely off, she smells like she could be your mother.”

“Smells?” Celebrimbor frowned giving Maeglin a side glance.

“What?” Maeglin shrugged.

Smell was one of the best senses an elf could have in the dark. It had been vital when hunting in Nan Elmoth where more than half the game could easily kill the hunter. And it was a good thing to have, in order to sense which tracks belonged to which beast in muddied forest floors where the trail had become indistinguishable.

The moment was cut short as mahogany hair appeared on the horizon, hallowed by the sun, which was slowly descending to the West. The nis’ hair looked almost red in that light, and with the sun coming directly behind her, it was hard to distinguish anything else about her, except that she was tall and graceful, walking with a steady, proud pace.

Tyelpe and Maeglin blinked against the sunlight, shielding their eyes with the palms of their hands, but as she approached Tyelpe let his hand drop from his face and struggled to stare in her direction without frowning.

The elleth stopped a good distance from them, silently observing for a long moment.

Even against the sunlight and despite Tyelpe’s fabled resemblance to his father, Maeglin could clearly tell that this was none other than his friend’s mother. There was a distinct similarity in the texture and fall of their dark hair, even if Tyelpe’s was a slightly different hue, and her posture, the way she observed them with her chin held high, a look, which seemed to copy her son almost perfectly. When she moved her mouth to speak, the quirk of her eyebrows twitched into an uncertain frown.

“Atarinke?” She asked and her voice was hoarse, as if she had not used it in a long while.

“No,” Tyelpe’s answer came raspy as well and he cleared his throat before adding quickly “I'm your son, Tyelpe.”

“My son?” The narrowing of her eyes was so similar to Celebrimbor’s own expressions that their relatedness was unquestionable at that point. However, no recognition appeared in her gaze and Maeglin’s stomach lurched, feeling the cold needle-pricks of dread dance down his spine.

“Yes-” Celebrimbor tried again but his eyes were wide. “My full name is Tyelperinquar. You used to call me Tyelpe in short...”

Tyelpe’s voice died off and in the stillness Marillindien blinked twice. Sorrow was slowly creeping into her eyes and she looked down to the ground where she stepped from foot to foot over the green grass.

“No, if I had a son, I wouldn’t have forgotten... No, I couldn’t have-” She spoke quietly, as if to herself.

“He is your son!” Maeglin burst when he saw Tyelpe’s eyes starting to fill up with tears. “Tyelpe is yours and Atarinke’s son - you separated when he was small, but surely you can remember him!”

Lómion hurried to take Tyelpe’s arm and tried to drag the other smith across the distance to approach his reluctant mother, however Celebrimbor disentangled from Maeglin’s grip with almost frightful ease. He remained rooted on the spot where he was and shook his head. The look he spared Maeglin was as clear as words: _‘No.’_

Marillindien was shaking her head as well and just like her son, her eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

“I left so much behind, but I couldn’t have forgotten that-” She begun and her voice was brittle, “I wouldn’t have forgotten my child - I can’t believe-”

She looked up at Celebrimbor and a tear rolled over her soft cheek.

“And yet I know you are mine, Tyelpe...rinquar.” She said with resolve and Maeglin had to hide the sigh of relief, which shook him so profoundly. And then a flinch when she added: “But I don’t remember you. All I remember is Atarinke, and you look just like him.”

“No, he doesn’t, because he also looks like you!” Lómion acted before Tyelpe had managed to grasp his arm and try to stop him, running across the distance to prevent Marillindien from turning away. “I understand that the memory of your husband is painful, but look at your son and you will see he’s not Atarinke. He’s your child, and he’s finally found you. He’s been searching for news of you for centuries. Won’t you at least try to speak to him?”

Maeglin gestured to Celebrimbor, who was standing exactly where they had left him, face scrunched up in pain but refusing to chase after his mother or even utter a word to help Lómion convince her in any way.

“Just look at this stubborn mule and you will know he’s your son for certain!” Maeglin added and that actually got a surprised huff of amusement from the nis, who looked up at him almost disbelievingly before remembering that she was supposed to be devastated and frowning once again.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Marillindien lifted her head and looked at Maeglin quizzically.

“His beloved.” Maeglin said, swallowing past the lump in his throat and allowing his eyes to quickly dart to Celebrimbor in search of confirmation.

Tyelpe nodded, making a tight knot in Lómion’s chest release with utmost relief.

“And I know from him that you used to make wreaths of holly together and hung them around the house.” Maeglin prompted, remembering Tyelpe’s childhood stories, which his lover had shared on their first trip to Tirion.

“And you used to plant holly literally everywhere you could find a spare spot.” Lómion continued, glancing again to Celebrimbor who still stood where he had left him, but now looked equal parts mortified and hopeful as Marilliendien seemed to hearken to those words.

“Holly is still Tyelpe’s favorite tree, and he planted it everywhere in his city and even on the gates of his allies in Middle Earth.” Maeglin finished, managing a small smile at the elleth, whose lips were now parted and her green eyes were glazed with memory.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of hollies. They don’t grow in Irmo’s gardens, it’s too hot for them here…” She looked back to where Tyelpe was waiting with his breath bated. After a moment of holding eye contact, Celebrimbor took a small, uncertain step towards them, then another, and then a few more until he was finally facing his mother.

“My son-” She begun and in the next instant Tyelpe’s arms had come around her and he was holding her, weeping as she did, as family finally reunited on the edges of Lórien.

Maeglin took it as his cue to give them space to speak and say all the things they needed to tell each other, and he walked away on soundless feet.

…

Uncertain of where to go, Lómion spent the evening wondering on the edges of Irmo’s gardens, carefully avoiding the water of any streams that came from the forest and staying away from the shades of willows and the sweetness of their songs of sleep and rest, which meant to enchant him into a long, dreamless sleep.

He ended up wondering a little to the east and climbing a small grassy knoll, where he sat to watch the spectacular descent of Arien behind the Western ridges of the Pelóri mountains, which encircled Aman from all sides and hid the view of the seas beyond.

The sky was clear and the gradient of fiery red and orange to deep purple and navy blue was perfectly undisturbed and uniform over the horizon. Maeglin marvelled at it, despite having lived through tens of thousands of days, and having looked towards the sky as the sun set too many times to recall.

In truth, he had not looked at sunsets nearly enough, Maeglin concluded. He had always been too compelled to look down, instead of turning his eyes up. Perhaps that was the change in him, which made everything feel so different and so new since meeting Celebrimbor.

He did not hear footsteps, just the rustling of the green blades of grass as one of the Powers approached him. He did not even have to turn and look at her to know that Nienna had manifested just behind him. A mixture of awe, trepidation and relief flooded him. He had wanted that meeting, even though he was not prepared for it, nor did he think it was going to be an easy one when it finally happened. Perhaps he was lucky that it had happened as it did, for it spared him the long moments of anticipation, which he had envisioned before it, the second-guessing and anxiety of what needed to be said.

Slowly, he turned and his expression was softened at once by gladness and melancholy upon seeing the gentlest of the Valar. Nienna was a vision of black and silver, with a young, yet tired countenance, and wise, yet sorrowful eyes that were nonetheless beautiful.

“I was going to come to you.” Maeglin said, turning towards her, without rising, moving from his seated position elegantly to kneel before her. “But I suppose you already knew that.”

Nienna did not respond, but Lómion had no doubt that she listened. She was a being of few words, but the ones which she spoke were never without wisdom.

“I don’t know what to say.” Maeglin confessed. “I have doubts, fears...”

She lowered her chin only just slightly, her colour-drained eyes set on his solid dark ones.

“I tried to stop myself, I tried to keep from falling in love again, with my best friend of all people - but…” Maeglin shook his head. “Is that what you meant for me? Is he my destiny?”

Nienna lowered her eyes and broke eye contact, but remained silent.

“Please answer me!” Maeglin nearly sobbed, allowing himself to drop forward to his hands and knees, heart screaming in fear of the answer to come.

“It wasn’t a prophecy, Lómion.” She said finally. “I do not deal with fate nor do I see the doom of all things.”

“Then what did you mean when you sent me to him?” Maeglin demanded brokenly.

“Only what I saw in your own heart.” She smiled sadly and Maeglin nearly choked on her cryptic answer.

“But what was it? What did you see there?” Maeglin asked even as she begun to fade away, still near, yet distant, and knowing that his time was almost up, Lómion reached his hands, tried to catch hold of her flowing robes and begged: “Please, you must tell me - is he the one? How can I know that his love will last forever?!”

 _‘You cannot know.’_ Nienna said but she was already gone.

Yet her voice rang in Lómion’s mind even as he looked around desperately, tears of sorrow and frustration freely streaming down his cheeks: _‘But isn't it worth the risk?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Marillindien - translates to Crystal Heart in Quenya (according to an online translator :D) 
> 
> Next chapter: The two hopeless bachelors finally get hope (and other stuff) with each other!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tyelpe gets to teach Maeglin a new (and useful) skill...

By the time Marillindien choose to return to her duties in Lórien, the moon had already risen and set and the pale light of the coming dawn painted the eastern sky in pastel hues.

She did not remember much from the last years of her previous life, however she could recognise certain sensations regarding her son. Tyelpe was soothed when she told him that she felt a familiar warmth in her chest when she looked upon him or heard his voice, as if she was discovering a part of herself, which she had always carried.

It gave the smith hope, as did his mother’s interest in getting to know him all over again. However, it wasn’t easy when the questions regarding his own life came up.

Celebrimbor choose not to lie or omit parts of the truth, even if he didn’t go into gruesome details as he quickly and efficiently recounted his story in Beleriand and Middle Earth.

To his own surprise, the part which followed his rebirth in Valinor was equally difficult to explain without sounding bitter. It went a little like this:

“And what did you do in the years between your trip to Tol Eressea and your return to Tirion?” She would ask about a long stretch of nothingness between the few significant events of his last millennia, and he would wonder what to respond, ending up with something along the lines of: “I stayed in my cottage and made many beautiful things.”

The frown on her face betrayed her thoughts, however, mercifully she did not make any comments. In truth, the tale of her own second life was not stellar either:

“The desire to make reparations for Alqualondë and the part your father took in the kinslaying was the only motivation I could find to emerge from the halls.” She remembered. “However, the Teleri wanted nothing to do with me and I was not allowed to pledge my service to them in order to heal the wounds sustained at our family’s hand. After that I sought Lórien and found healing as well as a purpose. I’ve remained in Irmo’s service, tending to the sleepers for longer than I’ve cared to count… Which year are we now anyway?”

Before she left, their conversation turned to lighter things, such as the year Celebrimbor had spent with Maeglin and the opening of their new shop in Tirion.

“What is your beloved’s name?” She had asked and Tyelpe’s expression had immediately lit up as he launched into a long retelling of how he had first met Lómion and all the things, which his friend did and liked.

“You seem to love each other well.” Marillindien commented with a smile after hearing his story. It was an expression which warmed Tyelpe’s heart. He recognised that smile - it was his mother’s smile, as he remembered her from a childhood so long ago.

“Are you planning to marry him?” She asked and the question was oddly not something Tyelpe felt prepared to answer, no matter how often it had been on his mind and how many others had made allusions to it before.  
  
“I don’t know.” He admitted.

“Why is that?” His mother frowned.

“He has been through a lot.” Celebrimbor tried to explain. “I would like to marry him, but I know that he might not be ready for such a big step yet.”

“That’s not very fair towards you.” Marillindien shook her head. Tyelpe had to smile at her onset of protectiveness. Lómion had defended him many times over the course of time they had spent together, and recently both Aredhel and Turgon had sheltered and cared for him, however having his own mother there to do it felt especially comforting.

“It is not so, because it’s what I have chosen.” Celebrimbor took her smaller hands in his and gave her an appreciative smile, trying to reassure her. It truly was alright - he was glad to take whatever Maeglin was willing to give and wait for as long as it took to see if anything more could happen between them.

Marillindien’s hands were so small. It was a little strange to hold them. Celebrimbor remembered his mother's hands big enough that he could wrap his entire fist around one of her long fingers. Nevertheless, he felt thoroughly comforted by the idea that he had finally found her and that she had not been avoiding him all those years, merely following her own path to healing. 

They looked at each other's eyes and Tyelpe was surprised to sense a familiar brush to his consciousness. He had not thought it possible after a lifetime apart, but it was happening - he was being reconnected to one of his parents. It had been a very long time since he had felt anything like that familial bond - Curufin had shut him off soon after Dagor Bragollach and that had marked the end of their trust. However, his mother didn't seem to have anything to hide, nor did she feel ashamed of him or reluctant to accept him as her son once again. Celebrimbor let her feel the flood of relief that their connection brought him and was answered with a wave of almost startled affection and quickly growing care. That's when he knew that they would be fine.

When they parted, it was with promises to meet again soon. And once he had walked with Marillindien to Lórien, Celebrimbor returned to the little camp he had set up with Lómion, waiting for the other smith to return.

...

Maeglin didn’t return until daylight, something that didn’t bother Tyelpe. He appreciate that his beloved had given him privacy to speak with his mother, and the time to reflect upon their long conversation. However, he’d have lied to himself if he said that he hadn’t begun missing Lómion by the time the dark-eyed nér reappeared on the green grass of the small hill upon which Celebrimbor sat.

“Did she leave already?” Lómion asked as he approached. Celebrimbor noted the way his friend’s pale hands twisted in front of his stomach as he spoke. Something was bothering Lómion, but Celebrimbor knew Maeglin enough to guess that his friend wasn’t in the mood for sharing, so he pretended not to notice.

“Yes, some hours ago.” Tyelpe said lightly, getting up and brushing off shrub from his behind.

“How did it go?” Maeglin continued to inquire and Celebrimbor smiled, making small steps towards him, drawn to Lómion like metal to a magnet.

“It went well. I’ll be seeing her again soon.” Tyelpe explained plainly and put a hand on Maeglin's shoulder. “Well, our work here is done. Now on to your errand - I was thinking that we could head north towards Nienna’s realm today...”

“There’s no need.” Maeglin cut him off, taking a step out of the smith’s reach. Celebrimbor’s hand sort of hung in mid air for a moment before he allowed it to drop next to his side.

“She appeared to me last night.” Lómion elaborated, wrapping his arms around his chest in a gesture that looked almost childlike in its defensiveness. Tyelpe felt the urge to step in and embrace him, but thought against it. Maeglin didn't appear to want to be touched.

“We can go back straight to Tirion.” Lómion concluded, casting a glance over his shoulder to Celebrimbor.

The jewelsmith caught himself worrying his lower lip with his teeth and immediately ceased the nervous motion.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, following Maeglin tentatively as his friend begun picking up dried clothes from a tree branch.

“Yes.” Lómion said, pausing to give Tyelpe a ruefully smile before proceeding to fold their laundry. “Nothing to worry about, Tyelpe. I promise.”

“Alright.” Celebrimbor conceded doubtfully.

Something was definitely up if Maeglin was avoiding the topic, Tyelpe thought. However there was little he could do but wait. Besides, he had a sense that whatever was bothering his friend, it was going to become apparent soon.

…

They arrived in Tirion late on the third week of travel from Lórien. The streets were peaceful and scarcely populated as they made their way back to the Hopeful Bachelor’s Wedding Bands shop. Most elves didn't sleep through the nights, however they also preferred not to work or run errands in the gentle darkness when the stars were up, choosing instead walks amongst nature, reading or pursuing whatever quiet activities they liked.

The trip back had been long for Celebrimbor, who had sorely felt the tension between Lómion and himself. Tyelpe had waited for his beloved to seek out his embrace, but Lómion hadn’t initiated anything and avoided mentioning their newfound intimacy since that day near Irmo's Gardens.

Celebrimbor suspected that whatever Nienna had said to Maeglin had changed his mind regarding their relationship. Somehow he managed to keep his despair at bay for the duration of the trip, but as they neared their home, he wanted nothing more than to be left to mop in the solitude of his own rooms. He planned to drop his travel sacks on the floor and immediately throw himself on his bed head-first, where he could stifle the tears, which had been fighting their way out for days.

However, Eru didn’t seem to have even a little mercy for the feanorian. Upon returning to their shop and finding it quiet with the lights off, the two néri opened the front door to a dark salon, but in the next instant all lights were uncovered and in the brightness of the crystal lamps, they were met with a room-full of colleagues, family and friends.

“Welcome back!” The gathered elves roared, startling both smiths and laughing at their surprised expressions.

Once Celebrimbor’s eyes had adjusted and he could focus on anything in the brightly lit, festively decorated shopfront, he recognised Aredhel’s white-clad form jumping out of the crowd to pull him and Maeglin into a tight embrace.

Tyelpe was still blinking against the light when Turgon pulled him into his large arms as well and then several of his new colleagues took a hold of him for cheerful welcomes.

The nér laughed despite himself. A lot of elves had gathered to greet them - many of whom were those who had become regular attendants of the unofficial lonely-hearts club, which took place in the shop’s courtyard. After a while, they had started to become like friends to the jewelsmiths of the Wedding Bands shop and Tyelpe wasn't that surprised to see them once again in their premises.

Celebrimbor had to grin over his shoulder at Lómion. The other ner looked equally perplexed to be met and greeted so warmly upon their return. However, a small smile was breaking his usually solemn public-face and when he glanced at Tyelpe and their eyes met, the grey-eyed smith felt as if he could get seared on its intensity. Being reminded of the fire, which burned underneath Maeglin's cold facade and the way Tyelpe had gotten to experience it, made the longing in his chest even worse.

...

After the surprise, the two smiths were separated and dragged to the garden where a long table was prepared for a dinner and a group of minstrels stood ready to perform. Sat across Maeglin at the two ends of the table, Celebrimbor temporarily forgot the woes of his heart. The myriad of friendly faces, the good wine and the music quickly got him into the mood for celebration.

After the meals had been served and eaten, most elves stood up to dance and around that time Tyelpe found his mood worsening once more. Normally he would have went straight to Lómion and asked him to dance, however he was no longer certain if he was welcomed that. Their affair, however short-lived, had managed to change the easiness of their relationship, and Celebrimbor wished that he had never dared to kiss his friend.

His eyes found the dark ones of the nér, who was on his mind and Celebrimbor assumed that Lómion was having similar thoughts. Tyelpe looked away, feeling awkward and it didn’t help his mood when he realised that their sudden coolness wasn’t going unnoticed. He noticed Aredhel and Turgon glancing at them warily and hiding their concern behind smiles when they noticed Celebrimbor’s attention on them.

Another glance around and he saw others looking at them expectantly too. Even Idril and Tuor were frowning as if they had been somehow disappointed. Tyelpe sighed and hid his hands under the table to conceal their restless twitching. Eru knew, Celebrimbor wished more than anyone that the result of their trip had been different, as everyone present clearly had expected. Perhaps the party had been also meant to serve for an engagement announcement. Tyelpe wouldn’t put it past Maeglin’s mother and uncle to have fantasied about eminent weddings after the two smiths had been went off on their own for nearly two months.

Maeglin’s hand squeezing his shoulder startled him and Celebrimbor looked up from his emptied plate. Lómion had snuck up on him easily and was now standing right next to him, elegant despite the simple travelling attire and the exhaustion of a full day’s journey.

“Tyelpe.” He said his name and Celebrimbor’s heart leapt in the silly way it liked to do whenever Maeglin addressed him. “I need to talk to you in private.”

Tyelpe realised he was holding his breath and he didn’t know if it was from anticipation or dread. Nevertheless, he nodded and got up, allowing Lómion to lead him back into the house, amidst the dancing elves and the drunken ones who lingered in the hallways.

Celebrimbor didn’t miss the way Lómion put his hand on the small of his back as they headed up to the residential floors, berating himself for letting his hopes grow at the smallest show of intimacy.

Amusingly they ran into a couple of elves making out in secluded corners of the staircase.

“I wonder what it is about this place that makes everyone fall in love...” Celebrimbor commented good-naturally before realising that the remark could be taken as a prompt to a conversation regarding the state of their relationship.

Lómion seemed to take it that way, because he remained silent until they reached the last floor where their rooms were situated. Thankfully they were alone, so they could speak privately.

The hallway was unlit with the exception of the starlight coming through evenly spaced windows, which overlooked the stone-paved street in front of the shop. In the silver light, Tyelpe could make out Lómion well enough to see his troubled face.

“Yes, there really is something here…” Lómion conceded and hung his head down with a sigh.

Celebrimbor wondered at his manner, trying to place it, when Maeglin looked up sharply and made several quick, purposeful steps towards him, backing Celebrimbor up against the nearby wall and kissing him hungrily, like he had meant to do it for a while.

Tyelpe let out a small sound of surprise, but momentarily relaxed against the kiss, content to be receiving it and leaning into Maeglin’s arms with a need to match his beloved’s. Lómion's teeth scraped over Celebrimbor’s lips. He was seeking purchase, running his hands up and down Tyelpe’s arms and chest, until one of them settled on Tyelpe’s jaw, tipping his head back to deepen the kiss, and the other wrapped around the smith’s waist, grounding their hips together.

Celebrimbor’s confusion only grew as the kisses turned more urgent and Maeglin pressed one knee between his legs, rubbing against the bulge in his trousers and coaxing him to hardness, making him moan against the dark eyed smith's mouth.

“Wait -… What are we doing?” He heaved between fast breaths.

Lómion paused, still holding him close against the wall, but he couldn’t seem to meet Tyelpe’s gaze and he was slow to respond, so Celebrimbor asked again:

“I gathered that your meeting with Nienna didn’t go well. I thought you regretted what happened between us.”

“No! No, Tyelpe!” Maeglin protested. “How could you think I would ever regret that?! Of course I don’t regret that.”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, tentatively relieved, but also very confused.

“Then why have you been so… If you don’t regret what we did and said, then why have you been shutting me out?”

“Did I?” Lómion looked genuinely surprised. “I never meant to make you think that. I’m sorry, I was just… thinking.”

Tyelpe smiled and pulled Maeglin into a close embrace, happy to know that he was still allowed to, and that his touch had never been unwanted.

“Will you tell me what got you so worked up?” He asked after a moment of feeling content with just looking into Maeglin’s dark eyes, which were nearly pitch black in the gloom of the unlit corridor.

“Just that…” Lómion trailed off, his gaze shuttering with his long eyelashes falling halfway over his dark irises. The slow caress which his fingers laid over Celebrimbor’s cheek was admiring and very distracting. “I was just thinking that I wish to marry you, even if it all ends up going in flames.”

Tyelpe couldn’t help but laugh delightedly upon hearing that confession, his heart swelling and ready to shoot off to the moon.

“Why would it go up in flames?!” He exclaimed, leaning into the touch while grinning toothily. He was aware that he was acting like a lovestruck fool but couldn't summon the will to care.

“Well, it’s us -” Maeglin shrugged, but Tyelpe’s smile seemed to be contagious, because he was chuckling a bit as well, even if it was a nervous, breathless thing.

“I want to marry you too, and you can’t scare me with a little fire.” Celebrimbor declared, biting his lips.

Maeglin was staring at him longingly before he seemed to come to a decision and he gripped Tyelpe’s arm, pulling him into the neighbouring door, which was Lómion’s own.

As soon as he realised the intent, Celebrimbor went willingly, grinning and giddy into the rarely explored space of Maeglin’s private chambers. He heard the door shut in the dark, and since the curtains were pulled closed for the term of their owner's absence, the smith could barely distinguish anything inside. However, he didn’t need to see when Lómion’s hands found him and pulled him close for another hungry kiss.

Clothing came off quickly, blindly, pulled and torn off by two sets of eager hands, until both of them were down to absolutely nothing but each other, skin to skin, making out in the middle of the spacious chambers.

They fumbled in the dark, or at least Celebrimbor fumbled because he couldn't see anything, but he allowed Lómion to drag him in whatever direction he choose. As it turned out, his beloved had taken him to his bed, where he pushed Tyelpe into cool silks of unused sheets. The sensation was a pleasant shock against his warm skin as was the weight of Lómion as he climbed on him and paused for a moment to look at him. Rays of starlight were playing across the dark-eyed nér's handsome face, escaping through a narrow sliver between the heavy curtains and to Celebrimbor he looked absolutely stunning with his radiant pale skin and his midnight hair.

Needing more, Celebrimbor flipped them over, finding himself between Maeglin’s raised knees and kissing his way down his beloved's toned stomach until Lómion gasped and arched his spine off the bed, pressing his hips into the mattress and digging his fingers into Celebrimbor’s travel braids.

“Oh Eru, Tyelpe! What in the world-” Maeglin trailed off as Celebrimbor’s kisses dipped even lower, exploring the plains of his pelvis and nuzzling in the crook between his torso and one of his legs.

“I’m sure you know.” The smith murmured. Even the most oblivious of elves had heard of oral sex, even if only the more adventurous couples ever engaged in it. Celebrimbor had always enjoyed it, and was hoping that Lómion would too, however, he waited to see his reaction before moving closer to his throbbing length.

“Oh, sure I know-” Maeglin panted. “I just think you’ve missed the spot.”

Celebrimbor chuckled at his friend’s brazen remark and decided to show him just how well he knew which spot Lómion was referring to. He took Maeglin's cock in his hand and guided it to his lips, pushing back the foreskin and planting a small kiss on the bared head. Lómion was holding his breath, but he let it out with a shuddering sigh when Tyelpe flicked his tongue over his erection.

“Please, Tyelpe…” Maeglin groaned, arching his hips off the bed and pulling him closer by the braids, working his way inside Celebrimbor’s mouth impatiently.

Tyelpe huffed a small laugh at Lómion's impatience. The hot air from his lungs teased the wet, sensitive skin making Lómion fall back trembling against the crisp sheets.

Celebrimbor obliged him and took him all in, knowing how to relax the back of his throat and pleasure his partner. Soon his ministrations left Maeglin absolutely senseless and panting, wriggling as if in agony and pulling on Tyelpe’s hair almost as if he was trying to dislodge him, but holding him down whenever the smith made any move to take his mouth away.

“It's too much... This is so good…” Lómion gasped. “Oh Valar, Tyelpe, I won’t last like that!”

Celebrimbor looked up and found Maeglin’s eyes sparkling like two living gemstones, begging him to come near. Leaving the oral pleasure for another time, Tyelpe crawled up Maeglin’s prone frame, leaving kisses and small nips everywhere, until he was once again kissing Maeglin on the mouth, balancing his weight on elbows above him. Lómion wrapped his arms and legs around him, weighing him down until Tyelpe fell on top of him with a laugh.

Lómion swallowed his giggling with a hungry kiss.

“Take me.” The dark-eyed nér whispered in the space between their parted lips.

Tyelpe raised himself enough to focus on his face properly.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Lómion said, then licked his lips and added just as Celebrimbor was about to lean in and kiss him again, “Except if you don’t mind me trying to take you instead…”

“I thought you said you were sure!?” Tyelpe laughed, caught between humour and suspicion.

“I’m sure I want to marry you tonight.” Maeglin explained. “I’m just undecided on how I’d like it better. I mean… I want so much.”

He seemed to worry over something and then he added:

“I’m sorry, I’m ruining the moment, am I not?”

“No! Not at all!” Tyelpe shook his head and reassured his beloved with a quick kiss. The moment was perfect, he thought, everything about Lómion was perfect just the way it was - awkward, sometimes uncertain, but so irresistibly cute and beautiful, and genuine. Yes, Tyelpe loved that Maeglin was real, not some made up fabrication of what Celebrimbor might have wanted to see.

“Maybe it’s better if you do it - that way I can’t mess it up-” Lómion continued, and realising that his friend was being nervous, Celebrimbor shut him up with another, long, deep kiss.

“You can take me and I don’t mind if you are learning how to do it as you go.” He said once he had kissed Maeglin thoroughly and left his lover dazed, lying limp and helpless on the mattress beneath him. “I’m sure I’m going to love it no matter what you do.”

“No, not this time.” Lómion decided. “I want you to show me.”

Celebrimbor smiled slowly, with a little mischievous glint in his eyes.

“As you wish. You know that I’m the master of pretty much every art you want to learn.” He teased and it made Maeglin laugh, dispersing any tension between them.

“Thank you for entrusting me with this moment.” Tyelpe added seriously, wanting Maeglin to understand that he meant it. “Even we elves don't always married just once, but there is only one first time. I’m honoured that you are giving it to me.”

“I am glad that it’s with you.” Lómion answered with a small, shy smile. “I feel like it was a wait well worth it.”

Tyelpe’s eyebrows rose at the cheeky compliment, his face heating up as Lómion’s eyes appraised his naked body with barely concealed anticipation.

“Well, I hope I can live up to such high praise.” Celebrimbor chuckled ruefully. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“What are you waiting for then?” Lómion winked, grabbing Tyelpe by the back of his neck and pulling him down.

…

The bang of the cork of a bottle of fizzy wine popping opened startled them, in the middle of a sweaty, heated moment of combining their flesh. They were breathing in each other’s sighs and clinging together in the midst of passion, when a loud female scream was heard from outside:

“My son just got married!” Írissë’s wine-cheered voice carried through the thin glass of Lómion’s window.

The pair of smiths tangled together in a lover’s embrace paused their movements to listen in equal measures of horror and shock as the party’s crowd erupted in cheers and exclamations.

“I know it! I felt it through my connection to my son!” Lómion’s mother continued shouting and then Turgon’s equally inebriated voice joined in just as loudly:

“Open the sparkling wine! Don’t wait for those two loons to announce it - Eru knows I have to do everything for them!”

Celebrimbor leaned his forehead on Maeglin’s sweat-sleek shoulder, the gesture a clear substitute for face-palming as the party in the courtyard erupted into cheers and drunken wedding songs, with only a few mistaken notes from the very popular begetting and Yule tunes.

“If we were in Gondolin, I’d be jumping off the wall right about now.” Lómion muttered against his hair, but contrary to his words, his hips were moving, short, rolling thrusts that pushed Celebrimbor further inside him.

“Then I’m glad we’re nowhere near extremely high walls and deep mountain chasms.” Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m not becoming a widower over a little embarrassment.”

“My family never ceases to humiliate me.” Maeglin lamented forlornly, wrapping his legs tighter around Tyelpe’s waist. “Please fuck me until I forget my woes.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you scream louder than your mother.” Celebrimbor answered in kind.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

…

Later they made an appearance, so that they could personally announce their marriage and extend an invitation to everyone present to come for the formal wedding ceremony, which they both yearned to have.

It proved a difficult task, given that during their time upstairs the guests had felt inspired by the occasion enough to finish the impressive stock of sparkling wine, which Turgon had brought just in case an engagement had occurred during their travels.

Even Idril was drunk enough to go up to Celebrimbor and Maeglin and throw herself in the feanorian’s arms with the words:

“I really respect you - I - don’t ever think that I don’t -” She smacked a kiss on each of Tyelpe’s cheeks before stepping away and starting to sob upon turning her eyes to her cousin. “I’m sorry, I am a weeping drunk - that’s why I try not to drink so much but when I heard that you finally…”

Graciously, Tuor was there to take his sobbing wife into his arms and pat her on the back affectionately while she continued trying to express her congratulations to the new couple:

“It’s just I always wanted you to be happy, Lómion-” She wailed and Tuor smiled affectionately, taking her away with an apologetic smile.

Maeglin blinked after them in shell-shocked surprise.

Tyelpe squeezed him into a one-handed embrace, holding him close, feeling more inclined than ever to never let him go.

“I told you she doesn’t hate you.” He said.

Maeglin shook his head and then smiled as well and it was sweet and carefree, and full of love when he met Celebrimbor’s eyes.

Next they had to deal with Turgon and Aredhel who demanded to know the date of the wedding party and talked over each other - Írissë talked about how much she loved them both and how happy she was to have a second son, or son-in-law, but really, another son, because that’s what Tyelpe was to her - and Turgon spoke about his plans of the wedding party, the kinds of structures he planned to make for the reception and the amount of wine it was going to require...

Their new colleagues and friends, those who were not too drunk to speak or get up from the flowery lawns of their garden, were also there and good enough to relieve them of the relatives and invite them to finally have a drink for their newly established marriage.

Once Celebrimbor and Maeglin were sitting on the ground under the many stars of Valinor’s skies, nursing a flute of sparkling wine each and touching the dewy grass under their fingertips, Lómion looked at Tyelpe and said:

“I can hardly believe this is happening.”

“I know.” Celebrimbor nodded. “I feel like it’s one of those dreams and I would wake up at any second.”

“So, you’ve dreamed about this?” Maeglin asked with a teasing smile.

Celebrimbor didn’t answer that, he simply leaned over and kissed him on the lips, right there in full view of everybody and once again the garden exploded in toasts and applause.

“We need more sparkly wine.” Turgon managed to tell his assistant with the last shreds of self control before he too collapsed in the grass, smiling proudly at the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Did I fool you with the angsty angst in the beginning? I hope you can forgive me, I couldn't resist serving you a last helping of emotional pain :D 
> 
> Next chapter: Turgon finally gets to organise that wedding he's been planning for months... And some unexpected guests turn up.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lómion learns yet another thing from Tyelpe... (and not what you are thinking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long that I had to split it in order to save myself tears during editing! I have good news, the next update will be soon, because the next chapter is all but edited!

“What a beautiful day for a wedding~” Aredhel sang and danced around Maeglin’s chambers in Turgon’s estate where her attendants were fussing around her son, braiding silver embellishments into his midnight hair and layering the intricate folds of the traditionally white ceremonial regalia around his tall, slender frame.

Írissë kept singing, her prancing steps taking her to one of the marble window stools where she leaned for a moment, directing her gaze westwards over the glistening spires of Tirion and the green fields which surrounded the elven settlement. Her clear voice trailed off and Lómion glanced at her to see what had caused his mother’s distraction.

“Mother?” Maeglin asked, stilling the work of her handmaidens upon him. Her sudden frown worried him. 

Aredhel had been overeager all morning, unable to get even a moment’s rest through the night and dancing around Turgon’s mansion, taken by more excitement than anyone regarding the wedding. However something had rendered her quiet and still.

“Your father…” She breathed, and her shoulders shook.

Panicked, Maeglin hurried towards her, ready to enfold his mother into his arms and bid her not to think of Eöl, not to sour the day with memories of him, but as soon as he embraced her and stood next to the window, his eyes instinctively followed the trajectory of her gaze and his heart nearly stopped.

Up on the hill, over the paved main road, which lead to Tirion, a lone horse with two riders made its weary way towards the city. It was very far away, and almost impossible to make out the faces of the two néri upon the great mahogany beast, however something familiar, almost elemental, directed Maeglin’s gaze to the tall, silver-haired Sinda, who rode at the front.

“No…” The nér blinked rapidly against the moisture in his dark eyes. “No, it can’t be!”

“Curse him!” Írissë shouted, and Lómion had to hold her tighter to prevent her from storming off in a search of her sword. “He has no right to be here!”

The attendants gasped in agitation as Maeglin held his mother back and she raged. In truth Lómion felt anger too. Eöl was supposed to be in Mandos, and it was true - he had no right to show up at his son’s wedding. Not after everything that had happened in their previous lives.

“Let me go, Lómion!” Aredhel protested, and a knock on the door announced Turgon’s presence before his uncle let himself in.

“What’s happening?” He asked, frowning uncomprehendingly.

Írissë seemed unable to answer, angry and frustrated to the point of tears, so Lómion steeled himself enough to speak.

“Eöl is here.” He said. “He is riding towards the city gates with another nér.”

The ridges of worry on Turgon’s forehead deepened and his blue eyes darkened to a stormy shade. Beside him Elenwë appeared, her lovely figure tiny next to her husband's colossal height.

“Is everything alright?” Tyelpe was last to peak around at the door frame. The feanorian had been getting ready in the adjunct chambers, which were now his by right, helped along by Elenwë and her attendants.

“My father is here.” Lómion told him, hugging Aredhel closer. 

Tyelpe’s eyes darted over him quickly, taking in his wedding robes, which sparkled with a myriad of white stones, glistening almost like snow on a clear winter’s day. Maeglin didn’t need their newfound connection to know that his visage had taken the feanorian’s breath away - the blush blossoming on Celebrimbor’s cheeks gave him away just as well.

The appreciation momentarily took Lómion’s mind off the unpleasantness ahead and he smiled knowingly at Tyelpe, who grinned sheepishly in return.

“You look nice, by the way.” Tyelpe said, grey eyes cringing with mirth, in the way that Lómion found so terribly endearing. 

Maeglin stared pointedly at the door frame behind which Celebrimbor was sort of hidding, suddenly hungry for the sight of him, even if neither of them was fully dressed yet - their wedding garments halfway done and their hair still not fully unbraided.

Tyelpe understood his wordless request and stepped into the room, letting Lómion see him.

“So do you.” The dark-eyed nér purred.

His uncle cleared his throat loudly.

“What are we going to do about Eöl?” Turgon asked, crossing his arms across his powerful chest. 

He looked agitated, and Lómion recalled the problem at hand and looked back out the window. Tyelpe came to stand by Lómion and Írissë to do the same.

He seemed to spot the riders, for his metallic eyes narrowed and his expression turned icy. When he spoke at last, his voice was terribly even.

“That’s Curufin with him.” Celebrimbor said. 

Everyone’s turned to stare at him.  


“Your father’s here too!?” Lómion recovered first. “I thought he was supposed to be in the Halls for all eternity.”

Tyelpe let out a harried sigh, turning away from the window and running a hand through his half-braided hair.

“Don’t! You will mess up your braids!” Elenwë protested and Celebrimbor apologised and left his hair alone.

“So, we have not one, but two uninvited guests coming our way.” Turukáno summarised. “Any ideas what we’re going to do?” 

…

Eöl and Curufin Atarincë found Turgon’s estate rather promptly. Entrepreneurial they were - despite being some of the most unpopular elves of all time, they clearly knew how to get what they wanted.

Turgon stepped out of the front gate of his mansion and imperiously made his way down the steps. Eöl was a kinsman of Thingol and therefore very tall, however Turgon was taller still, and wider, dressed in bulky formal regalia. He looked like a living mountain of gold and blue as he approached the two frowning néri at the bottom of the staircase.

Curufin and Eöl had somehow procured a set of simple traveling garb and were no longer clad in the robes of the returned. How they had managed, no one dared to guess, given that elves came back to the world of the living with absolutely no possessions and nothing to trade. However, even more miraculous was the fact that they were out of Mandos at all.

“I never expected such betrayal from you.” Turgon begun in his lordly voice, the one he had not used as of late. 

Lómion stood just behind the opened gate, holding Aredhel’s arm and looking at Celebrimbor, who stood on the other side. There they waited and listened, close yet hidden from view.

“I never pledged any allegiance to you, King of Gondolin, so I will admit to no betrayal.” Eöl’s voice answered just as authoritatively and a shiver ran down Maeglin’s back upon hearing its sound again. He had feared it as a child as much as he had adored it. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, _kinsman_.” Turgon’s tone barely concealed his mocking. “But you, Sparklehoof. What have I ever done to earn this betrayal? Did I mistreat you in some way? Why would you bring these undignified elves to my house?”

Across from him, Lómion saw Tyelpe burst into soundless giggles. He couldn’t help but smile at his uncle’s words too. Eöl and Curufin deserved little more than such dismissal. 

Sparklehoof neighed and stomped in response to Turgon’s words.

“Is that so.” Turukáno drawled, considering the horse’s argument carefully before turning his attention to the unwanted guests. “And what makes you two think that you’d be welcomed to your sons’ wedding?”

“First of all, I don’t see how my son is allowed to get married without the approval of his father-” A third voice spoke, one controlled and low. It wasn’t difficult to guess that was Curufin’s speech, articulate and dangerous enough to make the hairs on one’s neck stand on end.

However Turgon wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Our laws state that an elf can get married to whoever they wish, as long as both parties are willing, like your sons are.” Turukáno interrupted him.

“And how am I supposed to know, if I am not even allowed to see Tyelperinquar?” Atarincë answered slyly and Lómion saw Tyelpe hide his face in one hand, frustration evident. His father’s manipulation and veiled insult was causing him pain.

“Are you implying that someone here would force your son to marry my nephew?!” It was Turgon’s turn to show his ire.

“How dare you, imp?” Eöl roared, and Maeglin wished he could see their fathers' glaring at each other. However, glancing over the edge of the doorframe meant that they would see him as well, and then he had no doubt that things would escalate. He had an impression that their fathers were wild enough to try to fight their way to their sons.

“I don’t care what you did to ensnare your wife, dark elf, but I would make sure that the same doesn’t happen to my son.” Curufin’s answer was as level as always, and Maeglin fought not to get offended both on his own behalf, and on his mother’s. Eöl had not ensnared Aredhel, there had been love between them in the beginning. It was a very low blow to bring up those ugly rumours and to suggest that Maeglin had bewitched Celebrimbor.

But it seemed to be working, especially on Tyelpe, who was affected more than anyone by his father’s words. Celebrimbor was shaking with rage, offended by Curufin’s words and no doubt aching to defend Lómion against such assumptions. Maeglin could feel the burn of his anger, and attempted to send his reassurance through their bond, reminding Tyelpe that his father was provoking them on purpose.

“If you have come here to fight, then I suggest you leave and settle your differences elsewhere.” Turgon addressed Curufin and Eöl. “Today is about a joyous occasion, and if you have come to destroy it, I will see you gone!”

“I have not shared a horse all the way across the continent with this piece of goblin-filth only to be banned from my son’s wedding!” Eöl shouted in outrage. “I demand to be allowed to speak with Maeglin and if he doesn’t want to see his father then I will leave. But I will not be chased away by a Noldorin scarecrow such as yourself, Turgon!”

Lómion's breath caught.

“How dare he!” He whispered, unable to suppress his indignation any longer. For his father to show up, distress his mother, ruin everyone’s mood, and finally insult his uncle, who had never been anything but good and generous to him…

He felt Tyelpe trying to disuade him with a jolt of osanwe, but Lómion couldn’t take it any longer.

“Here I am, you ork of a father!” Maeglin tore himself from his mother and stepped into the daylight, surprising everyone but Celebrimbor, who shook his head in resignation. 

Eöl's dark eyes, a scary contrast against his pale skin and hair, zeroed on his son immediately.

Contrary to what Lómion had expected, his father didn’t look angrily upon him - Eöl’s expression was slack with surprise and awe as if he hadn’t expected to see him at all. And then the most curious expression flooded the Sinda’s aristocratic features - gladness.

“You threatened to kill me and murdered my mother in truth, when our only offence was failing to abide by your rules.” Lómion sneered. “Did you come here to ban me from marrying my beloved? Do you still yearn to control me!?”

Eöl blinked up at him from the bottom of the staircase, speechless. Maeglin spared the other elf a glance as well and saw Celebrimbor’s father for the first time. Curufin truly did look a lot like Tyelpe, but at the same time they were nothing alike. And now Curufin was gasping and his jaw was slack, his eyes wide, looking at a spot just behind Lómion's shoulder. 

“Tyelperinquar…” Atarincë breathed and Lómion realised that Tyelpe had come out and stood beside him. 

Celebrimbor didn’t answer his father. He merely crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at Curufin with an inscrutable expression.

That didn’t dissuade Curufin - before anyone knew what was happening, the older feanorian run up the steps, pushed Turgon’s impressive bulk out of the way, snaked past Lómion's attempt to block him, and launched himself at his son, sweeping Tyelpe into his arms and hugging him close. Atarincë was shorter than Celebrimbor, but in that moment, Maeglin thought that he would lift his son off the ground.

At the sight of that strange embrace even Eöl gasped. Tyelpe wasn’t fighting it, but he didn’t reciprocate either. Only Maeglin knew what was in his heart and that was anger, a lot of it, but there was also forgiveness and his beloved’s signature desire to make things better.

“Maeglin, I…” Eöl begun and Lómion looked back at his own father, whose black eyes were on his son’s, glistening with emotion. It was so strange to see his father appearing so vulnerable, so affected - it was as if he was a completely different person to the lord of Nan Elmoth, whom Maeglin remembered from his childhood.

“I fucking hate that name.” Lómion hissed, angry despite his father’s strange show of repentance. It wasn’t a complete truth, but the statement seemed to hit its mark.

“Lómion…” Eöl gasped, blinking back unshed tears.

“Oh, so you do know my mother-name.” Maeglin shook his head unrelentingly.

“I do, but I never thought you would hate me enough to abhore the name I gave you…”

“You ruined my previous life. What did you expect?” Lómion asked icily. “Are you truly surprised that I don’t want you to ruin this one as well?”

“I would never! Please let me make amends!” Eöl begged and inconceivably, Lómion felt his anger subside upon seeing his father so humbled, because deep down inside he loved his parent, regardless of everything he had endured because of him.

“I am sorry - for what I did to you and your mother… For everything.” Eöl continued, and he couldn’t seem to bear meeting Lómion's gaze anymore. 

Eöl lowered himself to one knee before him, and Lómion's heart fluttered with sympathy upon seeing his father begging on the same steps where not long ago Maeglin had asked for forgiveness for his own sins. It was impossible not to act then.

Glancing over his shoulder he saw Aredhel standing behind him, silent. When she met his gaze, his mother knew what he wanted to do, and after a moment, she nodded.

With one last look to confirm it, Lómion saw Celebrimbor cradling his weeping father against his shoulder and knew that if his beloved could forgive, so would he. Therefore, Lómion went down the steps to where his father was kneeling and extended a hand down to him. 

Eöl looked up and there were traces of tears on his pale face. He looked at Lómion's hand disbelievingly and shivered as he took it and allowed his son to pull him into an embrace.

Holding Eöl was strange. His father seemed less unshakable than the last time they had embraced like that. Lómion had been only a child back then but now he was almost of height with his father and could feel him shake with relief at being accepted. Eöl was only an elf, Lómion realised. He was fallible, but he was not a villain. 

Feeling a little awkward but no longer angry, Lómion looked over his shoulder to Aredhel, who was walking down the steps with too many different emotions warring in her blue eyes. He knew that his mother still loved this nér, no matter the chasm of bitterness that had spread between them. She wasn’t about to forgive him, but for the first time since that fateful day in Gondolin when Eöl’s spear had pierced her, Maeglin thought that the two of them may yet have a future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Celebrimbor and Maeglin FINALLY get married :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the wait! Of course this chapter had to grow a few pages while I was merely trying to edit it. Anyway, I hope you like it :)

As soon as Aredhel had deemed his wedding attire ready, dressed from head to toe in radiant white, Maeglin went outside and made his way to Turgon's stables. With the folds of his robes gathered carefully in his hands to avoid picking up any dust from the ground, he approached a certain dark horse.

“Sparklehoof, don’t you dare!” He warned when the horse spotted him and with a look of smug satisfaction turned his rear towards the nér with every intention to throw a kick. “I’m really not dressed for your games!”

The large steed neighed and to Maeglin it sounded like a laugh.

“I saw Turgon speaking to you, so I know you understand me.” Maeglin reminded him.

At the mention of his master, Sparklehoof’s ears pointed in Lómion’s direction, indicating the horse’s interest.

“I’ve come to ask you a question.” Maeglin continued. “Why have you always been such an ass to me?”

Sparklehoof snorted and nickered, stomping his hooves in anger as if to say - I’m a horse not an ass.

“A horse? Then why do you act like a mule!?” Lómion objected. A small voice in his head reminded him that he was talking to a horse, and the fact that he thought he could understand the animal, didn’t make him Turgon - it simply made him seem slightly unhinged…

Sparklehoof reared back and stomped down again, hissing in a way that made Maeglin think that he was trying the steed's patience, so wisely, he decided to cut to the point:

“I understand hating me for riding you, but I thought we were even after I set you free.” Lómion continued. Sparklehoof’s neighing sounded like laughing and Maeglin got the impression that the steed had never been his to set free. “Why did you carry the one elf, whom I really didn’t want to see, to my wedding day of all days?”

The horse quieted enough to listen to the elf.

“I'm no longer complaining that Eöl is here. For now at least. But it seems that you've done everything in your power to make me miserable from the start. Why am I this insufferable to you?”

Sparklehoof turned one large, brown eye to Maeglin and suddenly images and sounds appeared in the elf's mind. Through the strange viewpoint of a horse, he saw two néri alone at the edge of the world, looking lost and distraught. He recognised them despite the haziness of the vision - Eöl and Curufin, dressed in the colourless robes of the Halls and kneeling in front of Mandos as if praying to whatever power that could hear them… He saw the bewildered expressions on their tear-streaked faces when they spotted Sparklehoof and scrambled to their feet. Cautiously, they approached the horse, looking at him with disbelief. Then the tall Sinda and the dark Noldo embraced like old friends, laughing in relief like children.

Lómion saw them again, lying on the fresh grass under the moon, and heard their quiet conversation. He didn’t understand the words, not precisely, but he got their meaning in the same instinctive way, in which he understood Sparklehoof’s speech. They were in the middle of their journey to Tirion, and they were talking about their sons, past mistakes, and the families, which they still loved. They were bonding over these things.

Finally, he witnessed Eöl and Curufin clearing a clogged dam, covered from head to toe in mud. They used the coin from the job to purchase clothing in order to look presentable for their sons' wedding, Maeglin understood through Sparklehoof's intrinsic knowledge. There had been a nervous hope in the two fathers, a tender, tentative thing, and no hint of malice. That's what the horse had seen, and it was the reason why he had carried the two elves all the way across the continent.

Lómion blinked. He was back to the present, staring closely into Sparklehoof’s moist eye. With a jolt, the smith stepped away.

“Damn…” He cursed, still trying to make sense of what he had seen.

So Sparklehoof did not hate him after all, as for Eöl and Curufin - they truly had changed. Behind the hard lines of their stern faces and the hot tears, which they had shed, there was the softness of affection and a true repentance. They even didn’t hate each other like they had made it sound when they bickered on the steps in front of Turgon's home.

“I take my words back, Sparklehoof.” Maeglin said at last. “All of them. You truly are a most noble horse.”

Sparklehoof whined shyly and cantered away, as if too touched by the statement to remain in the smith's presence.

Maeglin shook his head. Who would have known that Sparklehoof was the sensitive type.

…

 

Meanwhile, at the entrance of Turgon’s estate a carriage of Vanyarin make arrived, bearing the sigils of the Valar. A rather disorientated nis stepped out of it, dressed in a light-green dress so fine it seemed to be woven of mist and dreams. Turgon’s steward greeted her warmly and then hurried up the stairs to tell his lord of the arrival of Tyelpe’s mother.

Turukáno, who made it his habit to move around as majestically as possible, all but ran down the winding staircase to meet her before she stumbled upon Curufin in the parlor. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it quite in time - he heard a slap resonating through the corridor before he even laid eyes on the estranged spouses.

Curufin stood before his wife, both of them lithe and nearly of height and built. Turukáno had always thought that they were so evenly matched that their marriage was sure to last, however that hadn’t been the case at all. Marillindien’s face he barely recognised - it had been millennia since he had last seen her, however Curufin’s face was quite familiar - that dangerous darkening of grey eyes as Atarincë quietly seethed, was not a sight easily forgotten.

Thankfully, the feanorian’s ire seemed directed only at himself and he was attempting to apologise to Marillindien, something that Turukáno had never seen Curufin do. Marillindien didn’t grant him even the mercy of her attention, turning instead to the tall Nolofinwenion and hurrying to the security his imposing presence promised. 

“Lord Turukáno.” Marillindien greeted, bowing to him. “Thank you for admitting me. I just wanted to congratulate my son and his spouse on their wedding.”

“You have come just in time! We are getting ready to depart.” Turgon said, returning the gesture. “Please, come this way, dear Kinswoman. Your son will be overjoyed to see you.”

Marillindien looked a little bit shy, courtesy to her long time away from elven society, no doubt. She followed Turgon towards the staircase.

“The ceremony is today?” She asked. “I didn’t know that the marriage has not yet been celebrated.”

“Then it's a good thing even the Valar keep an eye on our family.” Turgon smiled “Your master Irmo must have known.”

Turgon explained to her how the whole engagement had occurred as they accented to the second floor. Unlike Marillindien, he didn’t ignore the shadow, which followed them to the very bottom of the steps. Curufin was wearing an expression of envy and longing as he watched them go where he was not invited.

Turgon nearly felt bad for Celebrimbor’s father. Nearly.

Elenwe was with Tyelpe, stringing the final beads into his dark braids and the layered folds of his ceremonial attire. When Turgon entered, followed by Marillindien, Celebrimbor nearly ruined his hairstyle by jumping out of the chair where Elenwe had sat him in favour of running to his mother.

“Mamil*!” Celebrimbor exclaimed.

“Tyelpe, don’t move!” Marillindien halted him. “I’m coming to you.”

And she did, taking her son’s hands in hers and raising them to kiss their backs.

“You are a vision, my child.” She said, nodding appreciatively at his wedding attire.

Tyelpe smiled and looked away almost shyly.

“Thank you so much for taking care of everything.” Marillindien turned to Turgon and Elenwe. “I owe you so much.”

“Don’t say such things - it’s been a pleasure, and we love Tyelpe like he was our son-in-law.” Turgon’s wife disagreed. “We all know things haven’t been easy for you. It’s enough that you are here now and we can be family again.”

Marillindien nodded gratefully and Celebrimbor beamed at Elenwe.

“Thank you, aunt.” He said. “You treated me like your own long before Lómion and I got married, and I will never forget how you gave me a chance when so many were suspicious of me.”

“And we never regretted it.” Turgon concluded. “Come, Elenwe, let’s give them a moment alone. I’m sure Tyelpe’s mother would love to finish his braids.”

...

Weddings in Tirion usually began at sunset, the beginning of a new day according to elven culture and a symbol of the newly-wedded couple’s fresh start.

Thus was with Maeglin and Celebrimbor's wedding as well, and true to his words, Turgon had found a perfect spot, about a mile away from Tirion’s city walls. A canopy of white wood, crowned with wild-flowers was erected at the edge of an ancient oak forest near a lake, which reflected the pastels of the setting sun as the two elves officially took their vows.

Their rings glowed like the light of the two trees** when they joined their hands and Celebrimbor's grin grew even wider when some of the guests gasped and gushed over how wonderful his creations were.

"They have more hidden properties." He told Maeglin conspiratorily while the guests cheered for them. "I can't wait for you to find out."

"Ever the craftsman -" Lómion sighed in feigned exasperation. "Enjoy this moment, you will have an eternity to point out your talent to me."

"I am enjoying it." He murmured with a triumphant smile. "Just multitasking."

They were both happy to have found love, Maeglin knew. Happier still to be able to hold each other's hands in front of everybody that mattered, having publicly stated and reaffirmed their bond. It was more than he had ever thought he deserved, and he felt like he was about to melt and become a drop in the sea of happiness. Still, he had a little bit of sass left, so he said:

"I'm still surprised that I get the silver-glow though. I thought you reserved all things silver for yourself."

"And that's why you get it." Celebrimbor turned away from the guests to look directly at him. "And I get gold, because that is what you are."

Lómion promptly blushed and in order to hide his ridiculous smile, kissed Tyelpe again.

...

Rolls of tables were set for the guests and little lanterns were scattered amongst the grass. There was a band of minstrels to take care of the songs and provide rhythm for the dancing, which always followed the feast and was, arguably, elves’ favorite part of weddings. Almost in equal standing with the sparkling wine.

The sky was clear, promising the soft light of the stars over the entirety of the night's party and there were a more elves present than anyone had expected. Seemingly all of the living line of Finwe had turned up. Cousins whom Celebrimbor hadn’t seen in ages and Maeglin had never met, came to greet them and wish them luck and happiness in marriage.

While Tyelpe and Lómion stood receiving well-wishes and gifts from a long line of guest, Írissë and Marillindien ended up drinking together, laughing and commiserating, while Curufin and Eöl seemed to be doing exactly the same at the other end of a white-lined table.

As the party progressed Eöl gathered the bravery to ask Aredhel for a dance, and Curufin, as if on a dare, did the same for his own ex-wife. The ladies made a point of rejecting their old spouses, going to the dance floor together and letting the néri stare. However, after Curufin had a few more to drink and started sobbing on Eöl’s shoulder, Marillindien took pity on him and went to ask him for a dance. The pleading gaze, which Eöl turned to Írissë was so pathetic, that the White Lady sighed heavily before dragging her ridiculously tall husband towards the make-shift dancefloor.

Tyelpe and Maeglin were also dancing, and almost got swept away by Aredhel and Eöl’s vigorous swirling about the field. Barely avoiding the collision with that, they nearly tripped over Curufin’s leg - the latter having went on one knee for Marillindien mid-dance to implore her for forgiveness.

The gathered elves were sufficiently wine-soaked to get emotional over family reunions and soon everyone began cheering for the two broken families to reunite.

“I didn't think mother could find another way to embarrassing me as much as she did when she announced our union.” Lómion said, taking Tyelpe away from the dancefloor and straight to the drinks table.

Celebrimbor laughed heartily, taking the sizzling wine away from Lómion’s hands and pouring them each a healthy dose of red wine.

“It’s more intoxicating.” He explained. “And I think we’re both going to need it.”

Maeglin tossed it down in one swing.

...

That night the evening star made a very brief appearance in the sky as if in a hurry to set, and in its place Lómion’s nephew appeared at the celebration. Eärendil was dressed for a party and his first stop was the wine table where he met the officially wed couple. Only once the blonde had caught up with the drinks, which he had missed and had a glass of wine in each hand, did he saunter to Maeglin with a boyish grin plastered over his sun-kissed face.

“Where is my married uncle!” The mariner exclaimed, throwing his arms around the dark-eyed elf.

Lómion tore his gaze away from Tyelpe only when he found himself hugged by the half-elf, and kissed noisily on the cheek. For some reason Eärendil had always loved his uncle, even when others had deemed Maeglin dark and bitter because of his unrequited love for Idril.

“Careful!” Maeglin warned, and barely avoided getting wine spilled on his sparkling white robes.

“I’m so happy for you, uncle!” Eärendil spoke, attempting to keep Lómion in his embrace and nuzzling his cheek into the elf’s face as if he expected a kiss. Meanwhile, Maeglin was trying to extricate himself, reminding his husband of an annoyed cat. Tyelpe chuckled at the mental image.

“Thank you, nethew.” Maeglin said. “But let me go now. Let go...”

“My grim uncle - even now, nothing can melt your heart…” Eärendil sighed, but loosened his arms allowing Lómion to step out with as much dignity as he could retain. “Except for this guy -” Eärendil winked at Tyelpe.

“What’s your secret, Celebrimbor?” The half-elf asked conspiratorially, making Tyelpe genuinely consider what to respond before face-palming when Eärendil exclaimed: “Oh wait, don’t tell me! I’m not sure I want to know!”

“Get out of here, you spoiled child!” Lómion shooed, and Eärendil laughed.

“Okay, I get it, you two were busy and I’m interrupting.” He said. “But let me give you a piece of wisdom. Be happy and stay together! That’s all I’m going to advise you.”

With that, Eärendil ran off to where Elwing was sitting by herself and pouting, spilling the wine in his hands over other elves’ robes left and right.

“Strange words coming from him.” Tyelpe commented.

“I’m not sure he would have changed his fate even if he could. And sorry about him.” Lómion turned to Celebrimbor apologetically.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Tyelpe smiled, taking Maeglin’s hand and leading him away to where the music and the chatter of guests were not so loud, so they could converse without raising their voices. “I’ve dealt with humans before. I know how they are.”

“He's only half-human, but he acts more human then Tuor.” Lómion noted, sitting down on a bench underneath a festively lit oak tree.

“It's not a flaw. I find his manner refreshing.” Celebrimbor noted.

“You can see the bright see in everything, can’t you.” Lómion smiled softly and looked at his beloved adoringly.

Tyelpe leaned in to kiss him briefly before pulling away with a pensive look on his face.

“I wonder if I would ever see Elrond again.” He said with a sigh, sneaking his arm around Lómion’s waist and hugging him closer.

“I don’t know.” Lómion said, eyes on the dancing elves amongst the crystal lamps in the grass. “I should really like to meet him, for he was your friend and my kin.”

“I spoke to Erenion earlier.” Tyelpe recalled. “He told me that he had ordered in the event of his death the Rings, which I entrusted in him, to pass to Elrond.”

Maeglin frowned, sensing Celebrimbor’s deep unrest.

“So Elrond now has the Fire and the Wind rings?” He asked and his husband nodded gravely.

“I hope no ill would come to him from possessing them.” Tyelpe concluded with a sigh.

“Why do you fear for him? Sauron was vanquished in the War and, by all accounts, the One was lost.”

“That ring will be found.” Celebrimbor pronounced darkly and then his face contorted in an expression of pain. “Oh, Lómion, I brought so much evil upon the world. Sometimes I wonder how could have you chosen me despite what I have done.”

“Tyelpe.” Maeglin put his hand on the feanorian’s and squeezed. “I love you.”

“Thank you.” Tyelpe smiled and leaned in for another kiss. “I love you too.”

“One day Sauron will pay for what he’s done, to the world, to you and to me, just like his old master paid.” Lómion continued. “I just know it.”

“Lómion-” Tyelpe leaned in to peak at his eyes closely. “Is this really you? What is this optimism, are you sure you are not some impostor wearing Lómion’s face …”

Huffing a laugh and ruffling his husband’s carefully braided hair, Maeglin pulled back.

“Yes, it’s me. I think a bit of your unrealistic optimism has finally begun to rub off on me.” The other nér said. “But it’s only temporary, I assure you.”

“I hope not.” Celebrimbor smiled slightly. “Or if it is, I’ll make sure to regularly rub my optimism all over you-”

Lómion laughed in delight.

“Oh yes? I won't mind. And I don’t know if I ever fully expressed my appreciation for you.” He gathered Celebrimbor into his arms, pulling him to sit over his legs and wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

 “What has gotten into you?” Tyelpe grinned, but offered only token resistance to being held in Maeglin’s lap.

“I honestly don’t know.” Lómion admitted nuzzling his cheek into Tyelpe’s robes for a moment, before looking up at him with an almost disbelieving kind of mirth in his large black eyes. “This is what you and your optimism, and all your sweetness has done to me. I’m completely ruined.”

“If by ruined you mean in love, then I won't apologise.” Celebrimbor winked down at him and wrapped an arm around Maeglin’s dark head, pearls, ribbons, braids and everything, and pulled him into another embrace amongst the silky folds of his wedding garb.

“I love you so very much, you wouldn’t believe.” Lómion confessed, looking up again, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. “You are my starlight. My gorgeous husband. You’re so beautiful, you take my breath away, and your eyes shine more richly than mithril. I still can’t believe that I get to be with you.”

“Now you are killing me.” Tyelpe said and he had to turn away, because his face was heating up to what he imagined was a ripe red colour. He had never expected to hear Maeglin saying such things to him, or to enjoy them so much.

“Tyelpe, I’ve never seen you blush that much! What did I say?!” Lómion chuckled and squeezed him tighter.

“You know what you said, and please don’t repeat it! I’m going to faint if I hear more of such honeyed declarations.” Celebrimbor said, still trying to hide his embarrassment and unable to meet Maeglin’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Tyelpe, but I think I’ve just discovered your weakness and I’m going to have to use it mercilessly!” Lómion grinned. “If I knew that a few choice words is all it took to do away with your composure, I would have told you these things way earlier.”

“I never thought you had it in you to speak such sweet nothings…” Celebrimbor reprimanded without any real edge, forcing himself to look back at Lómion, but unable to resist rubbing his hand over his cheeks, as if that could make the blush go away.

“You still have no idea the things I could say to you.” Maeglin purred and pulled Celebrimbor a bit closer until he could whisper in his ear, just in case one of the merry guests was not as merry as they appeared, or paid a little too much attention to the two lovebirds.

“Next time I have you,” Lómion whispered, “I’m going to disarm you with my admiration, render you completely helpless and pliant for me, and then I’m going to have my way with you…”

Celebrimbor giggled before lowering his voice to match Maeglin’s:

“You better make good on that. Otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.”

“So, you have no shame where sex is concerned, but something simple like ‘you are beautiful’ makes you blush?” Lómion shook his head. “Seriously, Tyelpe, don't tell me you didn't know!”

Celebrimbor tried to control his squirming. He was absurdly affected by Maeglin’s compliments, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know he was handsome, it was just…

“It’s something else when you say it.” He said and leaned in to silence him with a long kiss.

Lómion sighed contently.

“I’m glad it matters that much that it’s me saying it.” He murmured when they pulled away.

“Of course it does. You are the only one who can make me feel this way.” Celebrimbor said and this time it was Lómion, who looked defeated by the sentiment.

He hid his face in Tyelpe’s robes, but the blush was spreading all the way up to his ears, and their pinkish tips just couldn’t be hidden.

“I think I found the way to disarm you too, beloved.” Tyelpe observed.“And I’ll be as merciful with you, as you would be with me.”

“We truly do deserve each other.” Lómion sighed and pulled away to look at Celebrimbor. “Your carpenter friend was right all along.”

“We need to commission him a double bed for the cottage. And I’m sure he’ll learn to appreciate your presence, since you bring him so much business.”

“Yes, and that it’s me and not some maiden, who would have kept springing out little Noldo children to flock the forest.” Lómion grinned.

“I don’t think he’d care about that - we live in Tirion now.” Celebrimbor mirrored his smile. “Our relocation is another thing he should thank you for.”

“Don’t deny yourself due credit for that - I would never have fixed my life if it wasn’t for you.” Maeglin shook his head.

“Neither of us would have.” Celebrimbor agreed. “I’m glad I met you.”

“And I you.” His husband declared and they kissed again.

…

And so, the two hopeless bachelors got married and inspired many lonely elves to do the same, not so much through example, as much as by continuing to provide their garden as a place for meetings. It wasn't really much of a choice - the Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands Shop's renown for a place to look for love had already spread through Valinor and there was little room for changing that.

Aredhel and Eöl got together shortly after their son's wedding. Very shortly after. The white lady’s blood ran too hot to deny her feelings and she dragged her starlight-haired Sinda ex-husband to the nearby oak forest where they… reaffirmed their vows. Eöl was very happy for the fact and swore to stop telling her what to do and be a good husband from then until eternity… Well, that was Eöl’s usual post-coital state - pliant and willing to say whatever. What happened with their relationship afterwards is a matter for another tale.

Curufin had to do a lot of groveling and undertook countless visits to Lorien, where he underwent a regime of penance and helping the needy, as Marillindien saw fit. Feanor’s craftiest son bore his atonement without protest, but privately complained to their son about the treatment and his frustration with spending his days helping sleeping or sick elves, when his hands ached to make something… anything! And so, Celebrimbor had a little workshop built for him, along with a small living area equipped with a double bed, just in case. Tyelpe wished his father luck in seducing his mother again, but told him that he would not step in and speak with her in Curufin’s favour, because it was up to her. Not that Atarincë did not beg on his knees. Thankfully, he did acknowledge the new forge and showed his son his gratitude properly, not in the stunted Curufin-esk way he had exhibited in Middle Earth.

Turgon found a new project in Tyelpe’s dream of having a city build, one to hold the craftsmen and the people of learning. Therefore, after putting their brilliant minds together, just in a century one such stood.

Lómion moved there with his husband, teaching a whole new generation of metal-smiths, miners and prospectors the fine secrets of his craft. And when it came down to the new city’s administration, Celebrimbor discovered that his beloved was absolutely irreplaceable. Maeglin exhibited a talent for ruling, which no one had noticed until they saw it put into practice. He also really enjoyed the part, giving Celebrimbor more time to play around with the other masters, something, which Tyelpe would have killed for back in Ost-in-Edhil where he had needed to be Lord as well.

Sparklehoof ended up roaming the fine fields around Tirion for many centuries, appearing seemingly from nowhere to graze by a spring where Tyelpe and Lómion would be trying to … swim, or near a tuft of thick grass where they would be... resting on their few days off. It annoyed Maeglin to no end until Turgon finally talked to the horse and it turned out that the beast had become rather attached to Turukáno’s dark-eyed nephew and wanted to make it known. Once that issue was resolved, with Turgon’s blessing, Sparklehoof became Maeglin’s personal steed. Lómion learned first hand that this privilege came at certain costs, such as not being able to ride another horse, ever and for any reason, but apart from that, Sparklehoof was a might and really fast steed, and Maeglin never lost another race against Tyelperinquar. He made sure to collect his winnings and after a time began to wonder if Celebrimbor would challenge him only so that he’d get to lose and pay the far-too-willing price.

Needless to say, Lómion and Tyelpe’s marriage was a blast and nothing marred their days into the what was known as the Third Age of Arda. As for what happened at the end of that Third age when old friends returned and old enemies were slain, this may or may not be told elsewhere. But for now, the story of how these two unfortunate elves got together and changed their lives for the better ends here, so we will leave it at that.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° THE END ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mamil - means Mum in Quenya  
> ** The rings glowed like the two trees, because they were that kind, which was mentioned in the first chapter of the fic - one glows silver, and the other one gold, and when they hold their hands together, it looks like the mingling of the trees :D
> 
> That’s it! I hope this tied up all loose ends and was an overall satisfying ending. Tbh, I had no idea what to write for the wedding bit! You’d think I would have had something better there, but I had literally nothing… well, it was never really about the wedding, right? It was about the love… Mushy-gushy love… :D  
> Anyway, big thanks to those of you who supported the fic and wrote comments on nearly every chapter! You guys are the best and without you, this fic wouldn’t have been finished, because I really needed the critique, the encouragement and the engagement. And you helped me with that, so thank you!  
> Special thanks to the rest of the people who have commented at one point or another, because your support was also very appreciated!  
> And for those of you who haven’t commented even once, come on - it’s the last chapter - now is the best time to give me your love :D  
> Either way, thanks to everyone for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr! Come say hi: alikuu.tumblr.com


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